IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 11.25 ■tt lU 12.2 St Ufi 12.0 u |l^ ^ ^ ^ W HiotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STMIT WIBSTIR.N.Y. MSM (7I«)«72-4S03 ■^ V % .^ ^ A signlfie "A SUIVRE", le symbols V signlfie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc.. may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included In one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diegrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmAs A des taux de rAduction diffArents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reprodult en un seul ciishA. II est f llmA A partir de Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant !e nombre d'images nAcessalre. Lev dlagrammes sulvants illustrent la mAthode. Brrata to pelure. m A n 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 S 6 L> n ■:\ My namk is ' HrAiTiiii .Iiik. %\- ^ ¥■ r \ f ^ > ! " \\ I # 1 i M ••^.' .'v^ M C M A )> I BEAUTIFUL JOE AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY By MARSHALL SAUNDERS Author of " My Spanish Sailor " WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH Uf foutA't Cotn^Hitu PHILADELPHIA AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY 1420 Chestnut Street 1894 I '•J %n"i Juv 125670 Entend, according to Act of CongroH, in the year 1898, bj the AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, '« the Office of the Librarian of Congreei, at Wathingtoa TO GEORGE THORNDIKE ANGELL, I'RESIDKNT OF THE AMER CAN HUMANE EDUCATION SCXTIETy, THE MASSACHUSETTS SCKIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OK CRUELTY TO ANIMAI^, AND THE PARENT AMERICAN BAND OF MERCY, 19 MILK STREET, BOSTON, THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. American Humane Edueaiion Society Prize Compe- tition, No. S. Kind and Cruel Treatment of Domestic AnimaU aiul "Birds in the Nortfiem States. PREFACE. Beautiful Joe is a real dog, and " Beautiful Joe " ia his real name. He belonged during the first part of bis life to a cruel master, wbo mutilated bim in tbe manner described in tbe story. He was rescued from bira, and is now living in a happy home with pleasant surround* ings, and enjoys a wide local celebrity. The character of Laura is drawn fr^rn life, and to the smallest detail is truthfully depicted. The Morris family has its counterparts in real life, and nearly all of the incidents of the story are founded on fact. THE AUTHOR. INTRODUCTION. The wonderfully successful book,^ entitled " Black Beauty," came like a living voice out of the animal king- dom. But it spake for the horse, and made other books necessary ; it led the way. After the ready welcome that it received, and the good it baa accomplished and is doing, it followed naturally that some one should be in- spired to write a book to interpret the life of a dog to the humane feeling of the world. Such a story we have in " Beautiful Joe." The story speaks not for the dog alone, but for the whole animal kingdom. Through it we enter the animal world, and are made to see as animals see, and to feel as animals feel, The sympathetic sight of the author, in this intrepretatiou, is ethically the strong fea- ture of the book. Such books as this is one of the needs of our progres- sive system of education. The day-school, the Sunday- school, and all libraries for the young, demand the influ- ence that shall teach the reader how to live in sympathy with the animal world ; how to understand the languages of the creatures that we have long been accustomed to 7 6 INTKODUCnON. {f'k call "dumb," and the sign language of the lower orders of these dependent beini^d. The church owes it to her miaaior to preach and to teach the enforcenient of the " bird's nest commandment "; the principU recognized by Modes in the Hebrew world, and echoed by Cowper in English poetry, and Burns in the " Meadow Mouse," and by our own Longfellow in songs of nciny keys. Kindness to the animal kingdom is the first, or a first' principle in the growth of true philanthropy. Young Lincoln once waded across a half- frozen river to rescue a dog, and stopped in a walk with a statesman to put back a bivd that had fallen out of its nest. Such a heart was trained to be a leader of men, and to be crucified for a cause. The conscience that runs to the call of an animal in distress, is girding itself with power to do manly work io the world. The story of " Beautiful Joe " awakens an intense in- terest, and sustains it through a series of vivid incidents and episodes, each of which is a lesson. The story merits the widest circulation, and the universal reading and re- sponse accorded to "Black Beauty." To circulate it is to do good ; to help the human heart as well as the creatures of quick feelings and simple language. When, as one of the committee tc examine the manu- scripts offered for prizes to the Humane Society, I read the story, I felt that the writer had a higher motive than to compete for a prize ; that the story was a stream of sympathy that flowed from the heart ; that it was gen- uine ; that it only needed a publisher who should be able INTUODUCTION. 9 %m gen- able to oommand a wide influence, to make its merits known, to give it a strong educational mission. I am pleased that the manuscript has found such a publisher, and am sure that the issue of the story will honor the Publication Society. In the development of the book, I believe that the humane cause has stood above any speculative thought or interest. The book comes because it is called for ; the times demand it. I think that the publishers have a right to ask for a little unselfish service on the part of the public in helping to give it a circulation commensurate with its opportunity, need, and influence. Hezekiah Butterworth, (Of the committee of readers of the prize stories offered to the Humane Society.) Boston, Mass., Dec, 1893. tl) i i ! ( 1 i i 1 1 • ' / « * ■■ \\ 1 CONTENTS. Cbaptxii PA«a I. Only a Cub 18 II. Thb Ckuel Milkman, 19 III. My Kixd Delivxrir anu Miss Laura, 24 IV. Thk Morris Boyh Add to My Namk, . 29 V. My New Home and a Selfish Lady, . . 84 YI. The Fox Terrier Billy, 46 VII. Training a Puppy, 68 VIIL A Ruined Doo, 57 IX. The Parrot Bella 62 X. Billy's Training Continued, 69 XI. Go dfisu and Canaries, 76 XII. Malta THE Cat 86 XIII. The Bkoinmino of an Advknture, ... 93 XIV. How Wr Caught the Bt'RGLAR, .... 103 XV. Our Journey to Riverdale, 113 XVL DiNOLBY Farm 128 U •■ 12 ODNTENTS. QtAPTKB PAOM XVII. Mb. Wood and his IIorsks, 180 XVIII. Mrs. Wood b Pooltbt 187 XIX. A Band of Mkrct, 143 XX. Stories About Animals, 151 XXI. Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Harbt, .... 164 XXII. What Happbmed at the Tea Table, . . 171 XXIII. Trapping Wild Animals 178 XXIV. The Rabbit and the Hew, 187 XXV. A Happt Horse, 196 XXVI. The Box of Monet 205 XXVII. A Nkolected Stable, 214 XXVIII. The End of the Englishman, 223 XXIX. A Talk About Sheep, 231 XXX A Jealous Ox, 242 XXX' In the Cow Stable, 250 XXXII. Our Return Home, 367 XXXIII Perkormino Animals, 266 XXXIV. A Fire in Fairport, 276 XXXV. Billy and the iTiirLiAH, ........ 282 XXXVI. Dandy the Tramp, 287 XXXVII. The End of My Stobt, 291 BEAUTIFUL JOE. CHAPTER I. ONLY A CUR. JY narae is Beautiful Joe, and I am a brown dog of medium size. I am not called Beautiful Joe because I am a beauty. Mr. Morris, the cler- gyman, in wlio.se family I have lived for the last twelve years, says that he thinks I must be called Beautiful Joe for the same reason that his grandfatlier, down South, called a very ugly colored slave-lad Cupid, aud his mother Venus. I do not know what he means by that, but when he Bays it, people always look at me and .«iuile. I know that I am not beautiful, and I know that I am not a thoroughbred. I am only a cur. When my mistress went every year to register me and pay my tax, and the man in the office asked wliat breed I was, she said part fox-terrier and part bull-terrier; but he always put me down a cur. I don't think she liked having him call me a cur ; still, I have heard her say that ahe preferred curs, for they have more character than well- 18 14 BKAUTIFUL JOE. brod dogs. Her father said that she liked ugly dogs for the same reason that a nobleman at the court of a certain king did — namely, that no one else would. I am ail old dog now, and am writing, or rather getting a friend to writt;, ilie story of my life. I have seen my mistress laughing and crying over a little book that she says is a stoiy of a horse's life, and sometimes she puts the book down close to my nose to let me see the pictures. I love ray dear mistress ; I can say no more than that ; I love her better than any one else in the world ; and I think it will please her if I write the story of a dog's life. She loves dumb animals, and it al.vays grieves her to see them treated cruelly. I have heard her say that if all the boys and girls in the world were to rise up and say that there should be no more cruelty to animals, they could put a stop to it. Perhaps it will help a little if I tell a story. I am fond of boys and girls, and though I have seen many cruel men and women, I have seen few cruel children. I think the more stories there are written about dumb animals, the better it will be for us. In telling ray story, I think I had better begin at the first and come right on to tlie end. I was born in a stable on the outskirts of a small town in Maine called Fairport. The first thing I remember was lying close to my mother and being very snug and warm. The next thing I re- member was being always hungry. I had a number of brotiicrs and siste's — six in all — and my mother never had enough milk for us. She was always half starved herself, so she could not feed us properly. I am very unwilling to say raucli about my early life. I have lived so long in a family where there is nev^r a harsh word spoken, and whore no one thinks of ill-treat- if ONLY A CUB. t6 injj anybody or auythinj», that it soema almost wrong even to think or spcuk of such a matter as hurting a poor dumb boast. The man that owned my mother was a milkman. He kopt one horse and three cows, and he had a shaky old cart that he used to put his milk cans in. I don't think there can be a worse man in the world than that milk- man. It makes me shudder now to think of him. His name was Jenkins, and I am glad to think that he is get- ting punished now for his cruelty to poor dumb animals and to human beings. If you think it b wrong that I am glad, you must remember that I am only a dog. The first notice that he took of w^ when I woii a little puppy, just able to stagger about, was to give me a kick that sent me into a corner of the stable. He used to beat and starve my mother, I have seen him use his heavy whip to punish her till her body was covered with blood. When I got older I aske<) her why she did not run away. She said she did not wish to ; but I soon found out that the reason she did not run away, was because she loved Jenkins. Cruel and savage as he was, she yet loved him, and I believe she would have laid down her life for him. Now that I am old, I know that there are more men in the world like Jenkins. Tliey are not crazy, they are not drunkards ; they simply seem to be possessed with a spirit of wickedness. There are well-to-do people, yes, and rich people, who will treat animals, and even little children, with such terrible cruelty, that one cannot even mention the things that they are guilty of. One reason for Jenkins' cruelty was his idleness. After he went his rounds in the morning ^vith his milk cans, he had nothing to do till late in the afternoon but take care of his stable and yard. If he had kept them neat, and 16 BEAUTIFITL JOE. i '« ':! 'aif groomed his horse, and cleaned the cows, and dug up the garden, it would have taken up all his time ; but he never tidied the place at all, till his yard and stable got so littered up with things he threw down, that he could not make his way about. His house and stable stood in the middle of a large field, and they were at some distance from the road. Passers-by could not see how untidy ^he place was. Occasionally, a man came to look at the premises, and see that they were in good order, but Jenkins always knew when to expect him, and had things cleaned up a little. I used to wish that some of the people that took milk from him would come and look at his cows. In the spring and summer he drove them out to pasture, but dur- ing the winter they stood all the time in the dirty, dark stable, where the chinks in the wail were so big tha>, the snow swept through almost in drifts. The ground was always muddy and wet; there was only one small win- dow on the north side, wliere the sun only shone in for a short time in the afternoon. They were very unhappy cows, but they stood patiently and never complained, tliough sometimes I know they must have nearly frozen in the bitter winds that blew through the stable on winter nights. They were lean and poor, and were never in good health. Besides being cold they were fed on very poor food. Jenkins used to come home hearly every afternoon with a great tub in the back of his cart that was full of what he called " peelmgs." It was kitchen stuff that he asked the cooks at the different houses where he delivered milk, to save for him. They threw rotten vegetables, fruit parings, and scraps from the table into a tub, and gave ONLY A CUR. 17 them to him at the end of a few days. A aour, nasty mess it always was, and not fit to give any creature. Sonu'tinies, when he had not many " peelinj^s," he wouiii go to town and get a load of deeaye man, for taking a kind husband and father from them. CHAPTER II. THE CRUEL MILKMAN. HAVE said that Jenkins spent most of his dayi inlfllencaa. lie had to start out very early in the morning, in order to supply his customers with milk for breakfast Oh, how ugly he used to be, when he came into the stable on cold winter mornings, before the sun was up. He would hang his lantern on a hook, and get his milk« ing stool, and if the cows did not step aside just to suit him, he would seize a broom or fork, and beat them cruelly. My mothfT and I slept on a heap of straw in the corner of the j^tuble, and when she heard his step in the ni(>ru- ing she always roused me, so that we could run out-doors as soon as he opened the stable door. He always aimed a kick at us :is wo passed, but my mother taught me how to dodge him. After he finished milking, he took the pails of milk up to the house for Mrs. Jenkins to strain niid put in the cans, and he came biick and harnessed hia horse to the cart. His horse was call:'d Ti)l)y, and a poor, miserable, broken- down creature he was. He was weak in the knees, and weak in the back, and weak all over, and Jenkins had to beat him all the time, to make him go. He had l>t'en a 20 BEAUTIFUL JOE. I I I cab horse, and \m mouth had been jerked, and twisted, an^i tmwi'tl at, till one would think there could be no i'ecl- ini; left in it; still I have aeen him wince and cuil up hi^ lip when Jeukina thrubt iu the frosty bit on a winter's morning. Poor old Toby ! I used to lie on my straw sometimcfl and wonder he did not cry out witli pain. Cold and half starved Iu; always waa in the winter time, and often with raw sores on his body that Jenkins would try to hide by putting biu of cloth under the hanK's.s. Hut Toby never murmured, and he never tried to kick and bite, and he minded the lea.«t word from Jenkins, and if he swore at him, Toby would start back, or st^^o up quickly, he was so anxious to please him. Afler Jenkins put him in the cart, and took in the cans, he set out on his rounds. My mother, whoso name was Jess, always went with him. I used to ask her why she followed such a brute of a man, and she would hang her head, and say that sometimes she got a bone from the different houses they stopped nt. But that was not the whole reason. She liked Jenkins so much, that she want- ed to be with him. I had not her sweet and patient disposition, and I would not go with her. I watched her out of sight, and then ran up to the house to see if Mrs. Jenkins had any scraps for me. I nearly always got something, for she pitied me. and often gave me a kind word or look with the bits of food that she threw to me. When Jenkins came home, I often coaxed mother to run about and see some of the neighbors' do^ with me. But she never would, and I would not leave her. So, from morning to night we had to sneak about, keeping out of Jenkins' way as much as we could, and yet trying THE CFIUKL MILKMAN. 31 t<) keep him in sis^lit. Ho always Hauntcrfd about with a pi{Hi ill liit) mouth, aixi his hands in iiis pockt'ts, growling fir.-«t at h'xA witt; and ciiiUlron, and thi:n at his dumb creatures. I have not tohl what l)ecame of niv brothers and sisters. One rainy (hiy, when we were eijrlit weciks old, Jenkins, followed by two or three of hi.s rairu'cd, dirty children, camt; into thi; stable and looked at us. Then he began to swear because we were so uirly, and said if we had been good-looking, he might have sold some of us. Mother watelu'd him anxiously, and fearing gome danger to her puppies, ran and jumped in the middle of iiB, and looked pleadingly up at him. It only made him swear the more. He took one pup after another, and right there, before his children and my poor distracted mother, put an end to their lives. Some of tlicm he seized by the legs and knocked against the stalls, till tiieir brains were dashed out, others he killed with a fijrk. It was very terrible. My mother ran up and down the stable, screaming with pain, and I lay weak and trembling, and expecting every instant that my turn would come next. I don't know why he spared me. I was the only one left. His children cried, and he sent them out of the stable and went out himself. Mother picked up all the puppies and brought them to our nest in the straw and licked them, and tried to bring them back to life, but it was of no use. They were quite dead. We had them in our corner of the stable for some days, till Jenkins discovered them, and swearing horribly at us, he took his stable fork and threw them out in the yard, and put some earth over them. My mother never seemed the same after this. She ii I' 4 22 BEAUTIFUL JOE. was weak and miserable, and though she was only four years old, she seemed like an old dog. This was on account of the poor food she iiad been fed on. She could not run after Jenkins, and she lay on our heap of straw, only turning over with her nose the scraps of food I brought her to eat. One day she licked me gently, wagged her tail, and died. As 1 sat by her, feeling lonely and miserable, Jenkins came into the stable. I could not bear to look at him. He had killed my mother. There she lay, a little, gaunt, scarred creature, starved and worried to death by him. Her mouth was half open, her eyes were staring. She would never again look kindly at me, or curl up to me at night to keep me warm. Oh, how I hated her murderer I But I sat quietly, even when he went up and lurned her over with his foot to see if she was really dead. I think he was a little sorry, for he turned scornfully toward mo and said, "she wa.s wortli two of you ; why didn't you go iustiad." Still 1 kept auiet till he walked up to me and kicked at mo. My heart was nearly broken and I could stand no more. I flew at him and gave him a savage bite ou the ankle. " Oho," he said, " so you arc going to be a figliter, are you? I'll fix you for that." His face was red and furious. He seized me by the back of the neck and car- ried me out to the yard where a log lay on the ground. " Bill," he called to one of his children, " bring me the hatchet." He laid my liead on the log and i)res.sed one hand on my struggling body. I was now a year old and a full- sized dog. There was a quick, dreadful pain, and he had cut off my dr, not in the way they cut puppies' ears, but III THE CRUEL MILKMAN. 23 close to my bead, so close that he cut off some of the skiD beyond it. Then he cut ofF the other ear, and turniug me swiftly round, cut off my tail close to my body. Then he let me go, and stood looking at me as I rolled on the ground and yelped in agony. He was in such a passion that he did not think that people passing by on the road might hear me. CHAPTER III. MY KIND DELIVKUKR AND MISS LAURA. hi ! ||HERE was a young man going by on a bicycle. He heard my screams, and springing oft" his bicycle, came hurrying up the path, and stood among us before Jenkins caught sight of him. In the midst of my pain, I heard him say fiercely, " Whiit have you been doing to that dog? " " I've been cuttin' his eai-s for nghtin', my young gen- tleman," said Jenkins. " Tiiere is no law to prevent that, is there ? " " And there is no law to prevent my giving you a beat- iUg,," said the young man, angrily. In a trice, he had seized Jenkins by the throat, and was pounding him with all his might. Mrs. Jenkins came and stood at the house door, crying, but making no effort to help her husband. " Bring me a towel," the young man cried to her, after he ha»' stretched Jenkins, bruised and frightened, on the ground. She snatched oft" her apron, and ran down with it, and the young man wrapjied me in it, and taking me carefully in his arms, walked down the path to the gate. There were some little boys standing there, watching him, their mouths wide open with a^'tonishment. "S<»nny,"' he said to the largest of them, " if you will come behind and carry this dog, I will give you a quarter." The boy took me, and we set out. I was all smothered V.I ii MY KI>D DELIVERER AND MISS LAURA, 20 up in a clotli, and moanini^ with pain, l)iit still I looked out ooca.sionally to see wliicli way we wore ^oin;;. We took th(! road to tlic town, and stopj)ed in front of a house on Wasliin<,'ton Street. The young man irned his bicy- cle up airainst the house, took a (juarter from his pocket and put it in tlie boy's hand, and liflin<^ me gently in his iJ.rms, went up a lane leading to the back of the house. There was a small stable there. He went into it, put me down on the floor, and uncovered my body. Some boys were playing about the stable, and I heard them say in horrified tones, "Oil, Cousin Harry, wliat is tlie matter with that dog?" " Hush," he said. " Don't make a fuss. You, Jack, go down to the kitchen, and ask Mary for a bjisin of warm water and a .«ponge, and don't let your mother or Laura hear you." A few minutes later, the yoimg man had bached my bleeding ears and tail, and had rubbed something on them that was cool and pleasant, and had bandaged them firmly with strips of cotton. I felt much better, and was able to lo.;!' about me. I wiLs in a siuall stal)le, that was evidently not used for a stable, but more for a play room. There were various kir Is of toys scatter(', and kept his foothold there, no nuittcr how suddenly the boy moved. There were so many boys, and the stable was so amull, that I sup[K)se he was afraid he would get stepped 26 HEAUTIFUL JOE. on, if he went on the floor. He stared haul at me with his little, red eye**, and never even glanced at a queer- looking, gray cat ttiat was watcliing nie too, from her htd in the hack of tlie vacant horse stall. Out in the sunny yard, some pigeons were pecking at grain, and a spaniel lay asleep in a corner. I had never seen anytliing like this before, and my v'ondor at it almost drove the pain away. Mother and I always cliasod rats and birds, and once we killed a kitten. While I was puzzling over it, one of the boys cried out, " IIe;-e is Laura ! " " Take that rag out of the way," said Mr. Harry, kick- ing aside the old apron I had been wrapped in, and tiiat was stained witl\ my blood. One of the boys -tufied it into a barrel, and then th^y all looked toward the house. A young girl, holding up one hand to shade her eyes from the sun, Wiis coming up the walk that led from the house to the stable. I thought then, that I never had seen suclj a beautiful girl, and I think so still. She was tall and slender, and had lovely brown eyes and brown hair, and a sweet smile, and just to look at her was enough to make one love her. I stood in the stable door, staring at her with all my miLht. " Wliy, wiiat a funny dog," she said, and stopped short to look at me. Up to this, I had not tliought what a queer-looking sight 1 must bo. Now I twisted around my head, saw the white bandage on my tail, and knowing I was not a fit sp(-v for a pretty young lady like that, I slunk into a corner. " Poor doggie, have I hurt your feelings ? " she said, and with a sweet smile at tlie boys, she piusscd by them, and came up to the guinea pig' box, behind which I bad taken refuge. " What is the niattearod in the stable. She did not stay long in there. Slie eame out and stood on the gravel. "Joe, Joe, Beautiful Joe, where are you? You are hiding somewhere, but 1 shall iind you." Then fhe came right to the spot where I v as. " Poor doggie," she said, stooping down and j)atting me. " Are you very misera- ble, and did you crawl away to die ? I have had dogs to do that before, but 1 am not going to let you die, Joe." And she set her laiu*" on the ground, and took me in her arms. I vipz very thin then, not nearly so fat ad I am now, still I was quite an armful for her. But she did not seem to find me heavy. She took me right into the house, through the back door, and down a long flight of steps, across a hall, and into a snug kitchen. " For the land sakes, Mits Laura," said a woman who was bending over a stove, " what have you got there? " " A poor sick dog, Mary," said Miss Laura, seating herself on a chair. " Will you please warm a little milk for him? And have you a box or a basket down here that he can lie in?" " 1 gufcss so," said the woman ; " but he's awful dirty ; you're not going to let him sleep in the house, are you ? " "Only for to-night. He is very ill. A dreadful thing happened to him, Mary." And Miss Laura went on to tell lior how ray ears had been cut off. " Oh, that's the dog the boys were talking about," said the woman. "Poor creature, he's welcome to all I can THE MORRIS BOYS ADD TO MY NAME. 33. , jro to jp the iu l»cr her till long in "Joe, hiding le right lie said, ' misera- i dogs to lie, Joe." lie in her aiu now, le did not the house, of steps, lomau who there? " ra, seating little milk down here do for him." She opened a closet door, and hrought out a box, and folded a piece of blanket for mo to lie on. Tlicn she lieatcd some milk in a saucepan, and poured it in a saucer, and watched me while Misa Laura went up- stairs to get a little bottle of something that would make nic sleep. They poured a few drops of this medicine mto the milk and offered it to me. I lapped a little, but I could not finish it, even though Miss Laura coaxed me very gently to do so. She dipped her finger in the milk and hpl'. it out to me, and though I did not want it, I could not be ungrateful enough to refuse to lick her finger as ofleu as she offered it to me. After the milk wm gone, Mary lifted up my box, and carried me into the washroom that was off the kitchen. I soon fell sound asleep, and could not rouse myself through the night, even though I both smelled and heard some one coming near me several times. The next morning I found out that it was Miss Laura. Whenever there was a sick animal in the house, no matter if it was only the tame rat, she would get up two or three times in the night, to see if there was anything she could do to make it more comfortable. about," saul to all I can ^ ^■''■^ mL-^.^^ %.> -y xfi.: <^ vj ».|t :♦' 1 ., CHAPTER V. MY NEW HOME AND A 8ELFI8II LADY. DON'T believe that a dog could have fallen into a happier home than I did. In a week, thanks to <,'<)o(l niirsint;, i;ood food, and kind words, I was almost well. Mr. Harry washed and dressed my sore ears and tail every day till he went home, and one day, he and the boys gave me a bath out in the stable. They carried out a tub of warm water and stood me in it. I had never been washed before iu my life, and it felt very queer. Miss Laura stood by laughing and encouraging me not to mind the streams of water trickling all over me. I couldn't help wondering what Jenkins would have said if he could have seen me in that tub. That reminds me to say, that two days after I arrived at the Morrises', Jack, followed by all the other boys, caiuc running into the stable. He had a newspaper in his hand, and with a great deal of laughing and joking, read this to me : " Fairport Daily News, June 3rd. In the police court this morning, Jainos Jenkins, for cruelly torturing and mutilating a dog, lined ten do'lars and costs." Then he said, " What do you think of that, Joe ? Five dollars apiece for your ears and your tail thrown in 34 MY NKW HOME AND A fiELFISlI LADY. 35 Icn into , thanks ;vord9. I niy 8oro >ae day, They ae in it. and it ling and of water ing what en mc i" I arrived ;,her boys, fspapcr in id joking, ilice court taring and Five thrown ia loe? That's all they're worth in the eyes of the law. Joiiking hiwiial lii.s fun ami you'll;,'!) tiiroii^^h life worth iihoutthrfe- (juart* I:* of II (log. I'd liwh rascul.s like that. Tie them tip and tlo<,' them till tliey Wi-re searred and muti- hittd a little hit them.-ielve!». .Just wail till I'm prr.«i(lem. liut there's some more, old fellow. List«'n : ' Our reporter viriited the iiousoof the ahove- mentioned .jeiikin.s and found u most (ieplorahlo state of affairs. The house, yard, and sta- ble were inde.scrihahly filthy. His horse In-ars the marks of ill usage, and is in au emaciated condition. His cows are plastered up with mud and filth, and are covered with vermin. Whore is our liealth inspector, that he does not exercise a more watchful supervision over estal)lishment.s of this kind '? To allow milk frotn an unclean place like this to be sold in the town, is enda'^gering the health of its inhabitants. Upon inquiry, it wa.s found that the man Jenkins boars a very bad character. Steps are l)oing taken to have his wife and children removed from him.'" Jack threw the paper into my box, and he and the other boys gave three cheers f(jr the Daily News and then ran away. How glad I was! It did not nuittcr so much for me, for I had escaped him, but now that it had Ix-en found out what a cruel man he wsis, there would bo a restraint upon him, and poor Toby and the cows would have a happier time. I was going to tell about the Morris family. There were Mr. Morris, who was a clergyman and preached in a church in Fairport ; Mrs. Morris, his wife; Miss Laura, who was the eldest of the family; then Jack, Ned, Carl, and Willie. I think one reason why they were such a g.)od family, was because Mrs. Morris was such a good woman. She loved her husband and children, and did everything she could to make them happy. 36 BEAUTIFUL JOE. Mr. Morris was a very hiisy man and rarely inter- fered in hoiiselioUi afTairs. Mrs. Morris was tne one who Fiiid what was to be clone and what waa not to be done. Even then, when 1 wjis a young dog, I used to think that she was very wise. There was never any noise or confu- sion in the house, and though there was a great deal of work to be done, everything went on smoothly and pleas- antly, and no one ever got angry and scolded as they did in the Jenkins family. Mrs. Morris was very particular about money matters. Whenever the boys came to her for money to get such things a:;' candy and ice cream, expensive toys, and other things that boys often crave, she asked thera why they wanted them. If it was for some selfish reason, she said, firmly • " No, my children, we are not rich people, and we must save our money for your education. I cannot buy you foolish things." If they asked her for money for books or something to make their pet animals more comfortable, or for their outdoor games, she gave it to them willingly. Her ideas about the bringing up of children I cannot explain as clearly as she can herself, so I will give part of a conver- sation that she had with a lady who was calling on her shortly after I came to Washington Street. I happened to be in the house at the time. Indeed, I used to spend the greater part of my time in the house. lack one di'.y looked at me, and exclaimed : " Why docs that 'log stalk about, first after one and then after another, looking at ;:s with such solemn eyes?" I wished that I could speak to tell him that I had so long been used to seeing animals kicked about and trod- den upon, that I could not get used to the change. It Heemed too good to be true. I could scarcely bchevc that MY NEW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY. 37 itcr- who lone, that onfa- ll of pleaa- , they attere. t sucli I other y they ic said, and we lot buy ,hing to their idea3 ilain as conver- on her ndecd, I house, by does another, had so ind trod- cr mge. It lieve that dumb animals had rights ; but while it lasted, and human beings were so kind to nic, I wanted to be with them all tiie time. Miss Laura understood. She drew my head up to her lap, and put her face down to me : " You like to be with us, don't you, Joe? Stay in the house as much as you like. Jack doesn't mind, though he speaks so sharply. When you got tired of us go out in the garden and have a romp with Jim." But I must return to the conversation I referred to. It was one tine June day, and Mrs. Morris was sewing in a rocking-chair by the window. I was beside her, sitting on a hassock, so that I could look out into the street. Dogs love variety and excitement, and like to see what is going on outdoors as well as human beings. A carriage drove up to the door, and a finely dressed lady got out and came up the steps. Mrs. Morris seemed" glad to see her, and called her Mrs. Montague. I was pleased with her, for she had some kind of perfume about her that I liked to smell. So I went and sat on the hearth rug quite near her. They had a little talk about things I did not under- stand, and then the lady's eyes fell on me. She looked at me through a bit of glass that was hanging by a chain fronj her neck, and pulled away her beautiful dress lest I should touch it. I did not care any longer for the perfume, and went away and sat very straight and stiff at Mrs. Morns' feet. The lady's eyes still followed me. " I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morris," she said ; " but that is a very queer-looking dog you have there." " Yes," said Mrs. Morri.«>, quietly ; " he is not a handsome dog." "And he is a new one, isn't he ? " said Mrs. Montague. 38 BEAUTIFUL JOE. " Yes." "Ami that makes - •' Two dogs, a cat, fiftQcn or twenty rabbits, a rat, about a dozen canaries, and two dozen goldfish, I don't know how many pigeons, a few bantams, a guinea pig, and — well, 1 don't thiuTc there is anything more." They both laughed, and Mrs. Montague said : " You have quite a menagerie. My father would never allow one of his children to keep a pet animal. He said it would make his girls rough and noisy to romp about the house with cats, and his boys would look like rowdies if thev went about with dogs at their heels." " I have never found that it made my children more rough to play with their pets," said Mrs. Morris. " No, I should think not," said the lady, languidly. " Your boys are the most gentlemanly lads in Fairport, and as for Laura, she is a perfect little lady. I like so much to have them come and see Charlie. They wake him up, and yet don't make him naughty." "Tiiey enjoyed tlieir last visit very much," said Mrs. Morris. " Bv the wav, I have heard them talking about getting Charlie a dog." " Oh," cried the lady, with a little shudder, " beg them not to. I cannot sanction that. I hate dogs." " Why do you hate them ? " asked Mrs. Morris, gently. " They are such dirty things ; they always smell and have vermin on them." " A d( g," said Mrs. Morris, "is something like a child. If you want it clean and pleasant, you have got to keep it so. This dog's skin is as clean as yours or mine. Hold still, Joe," aud she brushed the hair on my back the wrong way, aud showed Mrs. Montague how pink aud free from dust mv skin was. MV NKW HOME AND A SELFISH LADY. 39 ;them !;ently. and child, keep it Hold ck tho ik aud Mrs. Moutaj,'ue lookcMl iit me more kindly, and even held out -he tips of her lingers to me. I did not lick them. I only smellcd them, and she drew her hand back again. " You have never been brouglit in coiitaet with the lower crcati(jn as I have," said Mr.s. Morri-s; "ju.stlotme tell you, in a lew wordn, what a help dumb aninud.s have been to me in the up-bringing of my ciiildren — my boys, especially. AVlien I was a young married woman, going about the slums of New York with my hu3l)and, I used to come home and look at my two bal)ies as they lay in their little cots, and say to him, ' Wiiut are wo going to do to keep these children fnjni scHishness — tiie curse of the world ? ' " ' Get them to do something for somebody outside themselves,' he always said. And I have tried to act on that principle. Laura Ls naturally unselfish. With her tiny, baby fuigers, she would take food from her own mouth and put it into Jack's, if we did not watch her. I have never liail any troul)le with her. l>ut tlie l)oys were born seliish, tiresomely, disgustingly selfisli. They were good boys in many ways. As they grew older, they were respectful, obedient, they were not untidy, and not partic- ularly rough, but their one thought was for tiiemselves — each one for himself, and they used to quarrel with each other in regard to their riglits. While we were in New York, we had only a small, back yard. When we came here, 1 said, ' 1 am going to try an experiment.' We got this house because it had a large garden, and a stable that would do for the boys to play in. Then I got them togctlier, and had a little si^fious talk. I said I was not pleased with the way in which they were living. They did nothing for any one but themselves I'rom morning to 40 BEAUTIFUL JOE. night. If I asked them to do an errand for roe, it was done unwillingly. Of course, I knew they had their school for a par*, of the day, but they had a good deal of leisure time when they might do something for some one else. I asked them if they thought they were going to make reai, manly, Christian boys at this rate, and they said no. Then I asked them what we should do about it. They all said, ' You tell us mother, and we'll do as you say.' I proposed a series of tasks. Each one to do some- thing for somebody, outside and apart from himself, every day of his life. They all agreed to this, and told me to allot the taaka. If I could have afforded it, I would have gotten a horse and cow, and had them take charge of them ; but I could not do that, so I invested in a pair of rabbits for Jack, u pair of canaries for Carl, pigeons for Ned, and bantams for Willie. I brought these creatures home, put them into their hands, and told them to pro- vide for them. They were delighted with my choice, and it was very amusing to see them scurrying about to pro- vide food and shelter for their pets, and hear their con- sultations with other boys. The end of it all is, that I am perfectly satisfied with my experiment. My boys, in caring for these dumb creatures, have become unselfislj and thoughtful. They had rather go to school without their own breakfast, than have the inmates of the stable go hungry. They are getting a humane education, a heart education, added to the intellectual education of their Bchoob. Then it keeps them at home. I used to be worried with the lingering about street corners, the dawd- ling around with other boys, and the idle, often worse than idle talk, indulged in. Now they have something to do, they are men of business. They are always hammering and pounding at boxes and partitions out there in the stable, i; MY NEW HOME AND A SELFIHII LADY. 41 or cleaning up, and if .^hej are sent out on an crrrnd, they do it and come right home. I don't mean to say . hat wo have deprived them of liberty. They have their days for base ball, and foot ball, and excursions to the wood^, but they have so much to do at home, that they won't go away unless for a specific purpose." While Mrs. Morris was taliiiug, her visitor leaned for- ward in her chair, and listened attentively. When she finished, Mrs. Montague said, quietly, "Thank you, I am glad that you told me this. I shall get Charlie a dog." " I am glad to hear you say that," replied Mrs. Morris. " It will be a good thing for your little boy. I should not wisL my boys to be without a good, faithful dog. A •child can learn many a lesson from a dog. This one," pointing to me, "might be held up as an example to many a human being. He is patient, quiet, and obedient. My husband says that he reminds him of three wmis in the Bible — ' through much tribulation.' " " Why does he say that? " asked Mrs. Montague, curi- ously. " Because he came to us from a very unhappy home." And Mrs. Morris went on to tell her friend what she knew of ray early days. When she stopped, Mrs. Montague's face was shocked and pained. " How dreadful to think that there are such creatures as thot man Jenkins in the world. And you say that he has a wife and children. Mrs. Morris, tell me plamly, are there many such unhappy homes in Fair- port?" Mrs. Morris hesitated for a minute, then she said, earn- estly : " My dear friend, if you could see all the wicked- ness, and cruelty, and vileness, that is practised in this 42 BEAIIIFUL JOE. i I little town of ours in ono night, you could not rest in your bed." Mrs. Montague looked dazed. " I did not dream that !t wa.s :i8 bad a.s that," she said. " Are we worse than other towa« ? " " No ; not worse, hut bad enough. Over and over again tlie saying is true, one half the world does not know how the other half lives. How can all this misery touch you? You live in your lovely house out of t'ch town. When you come in, you drive about, do your shopping, make calls, and go home again. You never visit the poorer streets. The people from them never come to you. You are rich, your people before you were rich, you live in a state of isolation." " But that is not right," said the lady, in a wailing- voice. " 1 iiave been thinking about this matter lately. I read a great deal in the papers ab6ut the misery of the lower classes, and I think we richer ones ought to do something to help them. Mrs. Morris, what can I do?" The tears came in Mrs. Morris' eyes. She looked at the little, frail lady, and said, simply : " Dear Mrs. Mon- tague, I think the root of the whole matter lies in this. The Lord made us all one family. We are all brothers and sisters. The lowest woman is your sister and Ui^ sister. Tlie man lying in the gutter is our brother. What should we do to help these members of our common fam- ily, who are not as well oti'as we are? We should share our last crust with them. You and I, but for God's grace in placing us in diHerent surroundings, might be in their places. I think it is wicked neglect, criminal neglect iii i.d to ignore this fact." " It is, it !^," aaid Mrs. Montague, in a despairing voice. MY NEW HOMK AM) A SF.I.Fr-II I.ADY 4.1 ^I can't help feeling it. Tell me soinctlimg 1 can do to help sonic one.' Mrs. Morris sank back in her chair, her face very sad, and yet with something like plcusure in her eyes as shfi looked at her caller. " Your washerwoman," she said, " has a drunken hushand and a cripple boy. I have often seen her standing over her tub, washing your deli- cate muslins and lace.-', and dropj)iiig tear.s into the water." " 1 will never send her anything more — she shall not be troubled," said Mrs. Montague, hastily. Mrs. Morns could not help smiling " I have not made myself clear. It is not the washing that troubles her. it is her husband wlio l)eat3 her, and her boy who worries her. If you and I take our work from her, she will have that much less money to depend upon, and will swlfer in consequence She is a hard-working and capable woman, and makes a fair living. I would not advise you to give her money, for her husband would tind it out, and take it froia her. It is sympathy that she wants If you could visit her occasionally, and show that you are interested in her, by talking or reading to her poor fooli-sh boy or showing him a picture-book, you have no idea how grate- ful she would be to you, and how it would cheer her on her dreary way." " I will go to see her to-morrow," said Mrs. Montague. "Can you think of any one else I could vi.sit." "A great many," said Mrs. Morri.-;, "but I don't think you had better undertake too much at once. I will give you the addresses of three or four \>;>r families, whore an occasional visit would do untold good. That is, it will do them good if you treat them as you do youi richer friends. Don't give them too much money, or too i ir< U 44 IlKAI'TIFUl. JOE. many presents, till you finX TF.nniF.U nii.i.v. 40 lently. on bis ■e. He had felt ckM aiiil thought it would Itc warm iu.«»i(lo Mr. Morris' trousor'g Icj;. Howt'vcr, IJilly lU'ViT did any real niiscliitf, tliauks Vt Miss Laura's traiiiin;^. She Ik '.'an to puuisli lutn Ju.->t m Boon iw lie Ix'u'an to toar anil worry things. 'I'lio first thing he attaoivcd wits Mr. Morris' felt hat. The wind blew It down the hall one day, and Hilly came along and began to try it with lii.s tiTtli. I dare say it felt good to them, for a puppy is \cry like a l)al)y and lovea Some- thing to bite. Mis.s Laura found him, and he rolled his eyes at hor quite innoeeiitly, not knowing that he w:u doing wrong. She took tlie hat away, and pointing from it to him, said, " bad liilly." Then she gave him two or three 8lap.s with a bootlace. She never struck a little dog with her hand or a stick. She said clubs were for big dogs and switches for little dogs, if one luul to use them. The best way was to scold them, for a good dog feels a severe scolding OS much iis a whipping. Billy was very much ashamed of himself. Nothing would induce him even to look at a hat again. But liQ thought it was no harm to worry other things. IIo attacked one thing aftgr another, the rugs on the floor, curtains, anything (lying or fluttering, and Miss Laura patiently scolded him for each one, till at last, it dawned upon him that he must not worry anything but a bone. Then he got to be a very good dog. There was one thing that Miss Laura was very particular about, and that was to have him fed regularly. We both got three meals a day. We were never allowed to go into the dining room, and while the family was at the table, we lay in the hall outside and watched what waa going CD. 50 nEAUriFUI, JOE. Dotrs take a ^rroat interest in what any one gets to oat It wiv* finite ( xcitirifi to see the ^^)rrI^^es passiiiLj caeii oth( r (lillbroiit dishes, ami to \ould be 80 much cheaper than buying them." Mrs. Morris laughed in great amusement. " Think of the hens, and cats, and dotja, and rabbits, and above all, the boys that I have. What sort of a garden would there ba, and do you think it would be fair to take their playground from them?" 63 it I I I!' I it} n If 1 1 ' II 64 nKAiniFII, JOK, The lady said "Ni», she did init tliiiik it would lie fair." I am sure I d^n't know what the hoys wouhl have done without tliin strip of trround. Many a frolic and jxanic tiicy had there. In tlie pre.-Jeiit ea.ant. "(lood Joe," said Ned, turn- ing around and ])atting me, " you have forgt)tten. I won- der where Jim is? He would help us." He put his lingers in his mouth atid blew a shrill wliistle, and soon tlim came trotting up the lane from the Plreet. He htoked at us with his large, intelligent eyes, ] \'^ '■ I \NuM)i.n wiiKKi-; Jim is.' i ■,i I m TUAINIMi A I'UPI'V 55 au(l w:igj,'c(J his tail slowly, aa if to say, " Well, what do you waut ot lue': " " Ct^iiio and give ii'o a hand at tliis training' business, old .SolK'r.-iidts," said Ned, with a huigli. "Ilrf too slow to do it aloui-. Now, young gfullonien, attention ! To heel!'' lie l)ogaii to march around the ^'ardeu au'aiii, and Ji.a and I lullowed closely at Ins lieels, while little Billy, seoin;^ liiai lie could not get us to play with hiiu, came lag^ln^' behind. 8oou Ned turned around and said, " llic out!" Old Jim sprang ahead, and ran otF in front jw if he was after Something. Now 1 remembered wiiat '• hie out" meant. We were to have a lovely race wherever we liked Little Billy loved this. We ran and scampered hither and thitlier, and Ned watched us, laughing at our antics. After tea, he calieil us out in the garden again, and said he had something else to teacii us. He turned up a tub on the wooden phui'orm at the back door, and suL ou it, and then called Jim to him. He took a small leather strap fnjm his pocket. It had a nice, strong smell. We all licked it, and each dog wished to have it. "No, Joe and Jiilly," said Xed, hold- ing us both by our collars, ''you wait a minute. Here, Jim." Jim watched him very earnestly, and Ned threw the strap half-way acro.>s tlie garden, and said, " Fetch it." Jim never moved till he heard the words, " IVtch it." Then he ran swiftly, brought the strap, and dropped it in Ned's hand. Ned sent him after it two or three times, then he said to Jim, " Lie down," and turned to me. " Here, Joe, it is your turn." He threw the strap under the nispborry busher, then looked at me and said, " Fetch it." I knew quite well 66 BEAUTIFUL JOK. I *« ;!' what he iiicant, and ran joyfuUv af'ttr it. I soon foiiml it Ijy llie ptroui,' simli. l>ut tlie (lUtcrot tliinij; liapju'MtMl when 1 ;,'ot it in my niMiitli. I l^'t^an to i:n:i\v it ami ji'.uy with it, and wluii Ni(i called out, " Fitch it," 1 dropped it and ran toward him. I Wits nut oh.stinato, liiit 1 wa.s sluj)id. Ned pniui((l to the plaeo where it wa.-», and spread out hid empty liand.s. That helped nie, and 1 ran ()uic'kly and got it. He made me get it for him several time.s. Sometimes I could not lind it, and sometime-s I dro})pid it; but he never stirred. He sat still till 1 brought it to him. After a while he tried Billy, l)ut it soon got dark, and we could not see, so he took Billy and went into the house. I stayed out with Jim for a while, and he iusked me if I knew why Ned had thrown a strap for us, instead of a boue or something hard Of course I did not know, so Jim told me it waa on his account. He wa.s a bird dog, and was never allowed to carry anything hard in his mouth, because it would make him hard-moiitiied, and he would be apt to l)ite the l)irds whin he was brinudng them back to any i)ersoii who was shooting with him. He said that he had been so carefully trained that he could even carry three eggs nt a time in his moutii. I said to him, " Jim, liow is it that you never go out shooting? I have alwavs heard that ^ n were a dog for that, and yet y^u never leave home." He hung his head a little, and said he did not wish to go, and then, for he was au honest dog, he gave me the true reason. "He could even carry three egos at a time.' Pane 50. CHAPTEK VIII. \ ■ A RUINKD DOG. WAS a sportin<^ <1'>J?." ^'c .suid, bitterly, " for tlio first three years of my life. I hcloiiL'ed to u inaii who keeps a livery stable here in Fair- port, tind he used to hire me out to shooting piirtie.s. " I wiia a favorite with all the gentlemen. I wius crazy with delight when I saw the guns brought out, and would jump up and bite at them. I loved to ehase Inrdd and rabbits, and even now when the pigeons come near me, I tremble all over and have to turn away lost I should seize them. I used often to be in the woods from morning till night. I liked to have a hard search after a bird alter it had been shot, and to be praised for bringing it out without biting or injuring it. " 1 never got lost, for I am one of those dogs that can always tell where human beings are. I di liavc iiic pi. llitwtvcr, he ut hi.sl coii.'H^'UU'ii, ami they put iiic in the hack of the- \vap)ii with IJol) ami tho limcii Icwkcts, and we drove oH" into tiic country. 'I'liis ]'n>\) wiui a liappy, nicrry-lodkinj; doi,', and lus we went alouL,', he told nn'. of tlie hue tinu; we shiiuld liavi' next day. The ynung men would sh(jot u littK-, then they would get out their hiukeUi and have 8ui>teihin<,' to cat and drink, and would play cards and p) to sleep under the tree.^, and we would heahleto help our- gelvcs to leg:^ and wini^.s ol' chickens, and anything wo likc(l from tlu! haskets. '• 1 did iiot like this at all. I was used to working hard through the week, and I liked to spend my Sundays quietly at home. However, I .said nothing. " That night we .>jlept at a country hotel, and drove the ne.\t morning to tiie banks of a small lake where the young men were told tiiere would he plenty of wild ducks. Thoy were in no hurry to hegin their sport. They sat down in the .sun on some Hat rocks at the water's edge, and said they would have something to drink before set- ting to work. They got out some of the bottles from tho wagon, and began to take long drinks from them. Tlieii they got (jiiarrelsome and mischievous, and seemed to for- get all about their shooting. One of them proposed to have some fun with the dogs. They tied us both to a tree, and throwing a stick in the water, told us to get it. Of course we struggled and tried to get free, and chalcd our neeks witli the rope. " After a time one of tliem begaa to swear at me, and say that he believed I was gun-shy. lie staggered to the wagon and got out his fowling piece and said he was go- ing to try me. A r.rixKi) imh; 69 " III- li>a(lril it, wiiit to u littlt' tlintamr, uikI wa.>« K'"''")i to tin', wlii'ii tliu voitn^ nmii who owiictl liol*, Htiiil lie wa-iii't goiii:^ to liuvo liis doij's Ic;,'^ eliot off", ainl coiuiiig it|> liu unt:i>tt'iH-il him atid tooi< hint away. Yoii can iin- Uj^iiii' my ttrliii;^^, urf 1 stood there tied to tlu- tree, witli thut 8traiii;er pointing ha guii directly at luo. ile tired eioHu to luo a miinher of times — over my head and under my body. The earth was cut up all arouml me. I wiu ter- ribly frighteuid, and howled and i>e;.'i:ed V> he treed. "The otiier young men, who wiie yittin:: lauj^hinu' at me, thought it such good I'uii that they got their guud too. Iiinever wish to spend such a terrible hour ugam. I wiw sure they would kill me. 1 dare .-iiiy thoy would have done so, for they were all tjuite drunk by this time, if something lunl nut happened. "Poor Bol', wiio wa.s almost a.s frightened as I was, and who lay shivering under the wagon, was killed by a shut by his own nuialer, wlm.se hand was tlie most unsteady of all. lie gave one loud howl, kicked ct)nvulsively, then turned over on his side, and lay (piitc still. It sobered them all. They ran up to bin), but he was cpiito dead. They sat for a while (piite silent, tiien they threw the rest of the bottles into tlie lake, dug a shallow grave for Bob, and putting me in the wagon drove slowly back to town. They were not bad young men. I don't tiiink they meant to hurt me, or to kill Bob. It w:ls the nasty stuff in the buttles that took away their reasijn. " 1 was never the same tlog again. 1 w;is ipjite deaf in my right ear, and though I strove against it, I was so terribly afraid of even the sight of a gun that I would run and hide myself whenever one was shown to me. My master was x^jry angry with tho.se young men, ii id it seemed as if be could not bear the sight uf me. One day 60 BEAUTIFUL JOE. iP he took me very kindly and l)rou,i,'ht nic here, and askcw Misa Laura thinks it is wrong to kill the pretty or. that &y about the W(»od.s." "So it i-s," he said, "unless one kills them at once. I have often telt angry with men for only Imlf killing a bird. I hated to pick up the little, warm body, and see the bright eye looking so reproaclifully at me, tnd feel the ilutter of life. We animals, or rather the most of us, kill mercifully. It is only human beings who butcher their prey, and seem, some of them, to rejoice in their agony. I used to be eager to kill birds and ralibits, but I did not want to keep them before me long after they were dead. I often stop in the street and lock up at fine ladies' bonnet':, and wonder how they can wear little dead birds in puch dreadful positions. Some of them have their heads twisted under tlieir wings and over their shouldors, and looking toward their tails, and their eyes are so ijorrible that I wish I could take those ladies into the woods and let t'lom see how etusy and pretty a live bird is, and how unlike the stutted creatures they v.ear. Have you ever had u good run i!i the woods, Joe? " A RITINRD TOO. CI " No, never," I said. " Some day 1 will take yoii, and now it is late and I must go to bed. Are you going to sleep in the keiniGl with mo, or in the stable ? " " I think I will sleep with you, Ji;n. Dogs like com- pany, you know, as well as human beings." I curled up in the straw beside him, and soon we were fast asleep, ' I have known a good many dogs, but I don't think I ever saw such a good one as Jim. He was gentle and kind, and so sensitive that a hard word hurt him more than a blow. lie was a great pet with Mrs. Morris, and na he had been so well trained, he was able to make himself very useful to her. When she went shopping, he often carried a parcel in his moutli f )r her. He would nover drop it or leave it anywhere. One day, she dropped her pur^e without knowing it, and Jim picked it up, and brought it home in his mouth. She did not notice him, for he always walked behind her. When she got to her own door, she missed the purse, and turning around saw it in Jim's mouth. Another day, a lady gave Jack Morris a canary cage as a present ft)r Carl. He was bringing it home, when one of the little seed boxes fell out. Jim picked it up and carried it a long way, before Jack discovered it. li !> li CHAPTER IX. tut: parrot rklla. ft OFTEN used to hoar the Morrises speak about vessels tliat ran hctwpon Fairport and a place called the West Indies, carrvins: cartroes of lumber and fish, and brini,Mng home raolai»ses, spices, fruit, and other things. On one of these vessels called the " Mary Jane," was a cabin boy, who was a friend of the Mori is boys, and often i)rought them presents. One day, after I had been at the Morrises' for some months, this boy arrived at the house with a bunch of jrreen bananas in one hand, and a parrot in the other. The boys were delighted with the parrot, and called their mother to see what a pretty bird she was. Mrs. Morris seemed very much touched by the boy's thoughtfulness in bringing a present such a long distance to lier boys, and thanked him warmly. The cabin hoy became very shy, and all he could say was, "Go way I " over and over again in a very awkward manner. Mrs. Morris smiled, and left him with the boys. I think that she thought he would be more comfortable with them. Jack put me up on the table to look at the parrot. The boy held Iut by a string tied around oneof hei lcv.;3. She was a grey parrot with a few red feathers in her tail, and she had bnght eyes, and a very knowing air. (,2 ^T TTTK r.\ni!OT BELLA. G.T The hoy Aiid he had hron careful to l)iiy a younf» one tliat eouhl not HjH'ak, for lie knew the Morris hoys wouhi not want one eliatterint,' foreign gibberish, nor yet one that wouhl swear. Sic had kept her in his bunk in the nhip, and had spent all his h'isurc time in teaching her to talk. Then he looked at her an.\iously, and said, "Show off now, can't ye?" I didn't know what he meant by all this, until allcr- ward. I had never heard of such a thing as birds talk- ing. I stood on the table staring hard at her, and she etarcd hard at me. I was just thinking that I would not like to liave her sharp little l)eak fiistuned in my skin, when I heard some one say, " Beautiful Joe." The voice seemed to come from the room, but I knew all the voices there, and this was one I ha mutter, " Be<^Izel)ub, prinpo of devils," so I suppose the cabin boy had given his bird a bad name. Mr. Morris looked kindly at the cal)in boy. " Do you ever call the parrot by her whole name? " " No, sir," he replied, " I always give her Bell, but she calls herself Bella." " Bella," repeated Mr. Morris, " that is a very pretty name. If you keep her, boys, I think you had better stick to that." " Yea, father," they all said ; and then Mr. Morria started to go back to his study. On the doorsill he paused to ask the cabin boy when his ship sailed. Find- ing that it was to be in a few days, he took out his pocket- book and wrote something in it. The next day he asked Jack to go to town with him, and when they came home, Jack said that his father had bought an oil-skin coat for Henry Smith, and a handsome Bible, in which they were all to write their names. Alter Mr. M'-rris left the room, the door opened, and Miss Laura cama in. She knew nothing about the par- rot, and was very much surprised to see it. Seating her- self at the table, she held out her hands to it. She was so fond of pets of all kinds, that she never thought of be- ing afraid of them. At the same time, she never laid her hand suddenly on any animal. She held out her fingers and talked gently, so that if it wished to come to her it could. She looked at the parrot as if she loved it, and the queer little thing walked right up, and nestle , Ho iuiiixl uiit lliat ho was a poor, ij^nionuit hid, haiiola! »■ •< hy a drunken father. lie and liis brother sto! •.the*, nnd sent tliem to his sister in Boston, who sold them au : . ^turned part of the money. Mr. Morris jisked liim if he would not like to get his living in an honest way, and he siid he had tried to, but no one would employ him. INIr. Morris told hnn to go home and take leave of his father and get his brotiier and bring him to Washington street the next day. He told him plainly that if he did not he would send a po- liceman aflei him. The boy begged Air. Morris not to do that, and early the next morning he appeared with his brother. Mrs. Morris gave them a good breakfast and fitted thera out with clothes, and they were sent off in the train to one of her brothers, who was a kind farmer in the country, and wiio had been telegraphed to that these boys ■were coming, and wished to be provided witii situations wiiere they would have a chance to make honest men of themselves. i \ CHAPTER X. BIM.Y's TUAININO CONTINUri). HEN Billy w;is five months' old, he hsul his first walk in tlie street. Miss Laura knew that lie had been well trained, so she did not hesitate to take him into the town. She wivs not tlie kiinl of a young lady to go into the street witli a dog tiiat would not he- have himself, and slic was never willing to attract atten- tion to herself by calling out orders to any of iier pets. As soon as we got down the front Pteps, she said, quietly to Billy, "To heel." It was very hard for little, playful Billy to keep close to her, when he .saw so many new and wonderful things about him. lie had gotten aetpiainted with everything in the house and garden, but this out- side world was full of things he wanted to look at and smell of, antf he was fairly crazy to play with some of the pretty dogs he saw running about. But he did just as he was told. Soon we came to a shop, and Miss Laura went in to buy some ribbons. Siic said to me, " Stay out," but Billy she took in with her. I watched them through tlie glass door, and saw her go to a counter and sit down. Billy stood l)ehind her till she said, " Lie down." Then be curled himself at her feet. He lay quietly, even when she left him and went to another counter. But he eyed her very anxiously till 69 70 BKALTIFUL JOE. she camo hack mxl .said, " Up," to him. Then he sprang up aiiil followed her out to the street. She stood in the shop door, and looked lovingly down on us an we I'liwned on her. "Good do<.'H," she said, softly, "you shall have a present" We wt-nt hehind her again, and she took us to a shop where we hoth lay hesidc the counter. When wo he^Td her oak the clerk for solid rubher halls, we could scarcely keep still. We both knew what " hall " meant. Taking the parcel in her hand, she came out into the street. She did not do any more shopping, but turned her face toward the sea. She was going to give us a nice walk along the beach, although it waa a dark, disagree- able, cloudy day, when most young ladies would have stayed in the house The Morris children never minded the weather. Even in the pouring rain, the boys would put on rubber bovjts and coats and go out to play. Miss Laui ' walked along, the high wind blowing her cloak and dres^ about, and when we got past the houses, she had a little run with us. We jumped, and frisked, and barked, till we were tired ; and then we walked quietly along. A little distance ahead of us were some boys throwing sticks in the water for two Newfoundland dogs. Sud- denly a quarrel sprang up between the dogs. They were both powerful creatures, and fairly matched as regarded size. It was terrible to hear their fierce growling, and to see the way in which they tore at each other's throats. I looked at Miss Laura. If she had said a word, I would have rim in and helped the dog that was getting the worst of it. But she told me to keep back, and ran on herself. The boys were throwing water on the dogs, and pulling their taih, and hurling stones at them, but they could not V' BILLYS TRAINIXO OONTINrED. 71 separate them. Their heads seemed locked together, and they went back and forth over the stonei', tlic lM)ya eruWfliu;^ uroiind tbeni, shouting, an«l beating, and kick- ing at tliem. "Stand back, boys," said Miss Lanra, " I'll stop them." She palled a little parcel from her purse, bent over the dogs, scattered a powder on their noses, and the next in.-tant the dogs were yards apart, nearly sneezing their heads off. " I say, Missis, what did you do ? What's that stuff — whew, it's pepper ! " the boys exclaimed. JNIiss Laura sat down on a Hat rock, and looked at them with a very pale face. " Oh, boys," she said, " why did you make those dogs fight? It is so cruel. They were playing happily till you set them on each other. Just see how they have torn their handsome coats, and how the blood is dripping from them." " 'Taint my fault," said one of the lads, sullenly. *' Jim Jones there said his dog could lick my dog, and I said lie couldn't — and he couldn't, nuther." " Yes, he could,' cried the other boy, " and if you say he couldn't, I'll smash your head." The two boys began sidling up to each other with clenched fists, and a third boy, who had*a mischievoua face, seized the paper that had had the pepper in it, and running up to them shook it in their faces. There was enough left to put all thoughts of fighting out of their heads. They began to cough, and choke, and splutter, and finally found themselves beside the dogs, where the four of them had a lively time. The other boys yelled with delight, and pointed their fingers at them. " A sneezing concert. Thank you. gentlemen. Angcore, angcore I " 72 liEAirriPUL JuE. Mi.ss Laura laughed t«jo, hIic could not help it, and evL'U Billy und 1 curled up our lifMi. Ailur a wiiilc tliey sobered down, and then tinding that tiic hoys I>.i(In°t u handkerchief hetw-eu tlicm, Mi»s I^nurii took Iut owu 0oll one, and dipping it in a spring of fresh water near by, wiped the red eyes of the sneezers. Their ill humor had gone, and when hIio turned to leave them, and eaid, coaxingly, "You won't make thopo dogs fight any nu»re, will you?" they said, " No, sirce, Bob." Miss Laura went slowly home, and ever afterward when she met any of those boys, they called her "Miss Pepper." When we got home we found Willie curled up by the window ill the hull, reading a book. Ho was too fond of reading, and his mother ofteu told him to })ut away his book and run about with tlio other boys. This afternoon MiAA Laura laid her hand on his shoulder and said, " I was going to give the dogs a little game of ball, but I'm rather tired." " Gammon and spinacli," ho replied, shaking off her hand, " you're always tired," She sat down in a hall chair and looked at him. Then she began to tell him about the dog light. He was much interested, and the book slipped to the floor. When she finished he said, " You're a daisy every day. Go now and rest yourself. " Then snatching the balls from her, he called us and ran down to the basement. But ho was not quick enough, though, to escape her arm. Sho caught him to her and kissed him repeatedly. Ho was the baby and pet of the family, and he loved her dearly, though he spoke impatiently to her oft^ner than either of the other boys. HlI.l.Y WOILL) TAKi; Ills HALL AND (.(> (UK IIY HI.MsKir.' Pan.- 71. BILLYS TKAININO a)MINrEI). 73 We had a j^rand pamo with Willie. Miss I^aura had trained us to do all kinda of thiiiga with halls — ^jiimj)iii<» for them, playing hioor jieople. Once, I followed her track all through town, and ut Inst found it was only a pair of her boots on a ra^'ged chiltl in the gutter. I must say a word about Billy's tail before I close this chapter. It is the custom to (uit the ends of fox torriers' tails, but leave their ears untouched. Billy came to Miss Laura so young that his tail had not been cut oiF, and she would not have it done. (3ne day Mr. Robinson came in to see him, and he said, " You have made a fine-looking dog of him, but his ap- pearance is ruined by the length of his tail." *' Mr. Robinson," said Mrs. Morris, patting little Billy, who lay on her lap, "don't you think that this little dog has a beautifully prop(jrtioned body ? " " Yes, I do," said the gentleman. " His points are all correct, save that one." " But," she said, " if our Creator made that beautiful little body, don't you think he is wise enough to know what length of tail would be iu proportion to it?" Mr. Robinson would not answer her. He only laughed, and said that he thought she and Miss Laura were both " cranks." ■/. I <\ ii ■»«' TJ'sit ^ CHAPTER XI. GOi.I)KISU AND CANARIES. I HE Morris boys were all (lillcrent. Jack WAi Itriyht and clever, Ned was a wag, Willie was a hook-worm, and (Jarl wtus a horn trader. He was always excliangiiig toys and hooks with his schoolmates, and they never got the hotter of him in a bargain. He said that when he grew up he w:is going to be a merchant, and lie had already begun to carry on a trade in canaries and goldli.-jh. He was very fond of what he called " his yellow pets," yet he never kcft a pair of birds or a goldfish, if he had a good offer for them Hg slept alone in a large, sunny room at ' no top of the house. By his own request, it was barely furnished, and there he raised his canaries and kept his goldfish. He was not fond of having visitors coming to his room, because, he said, they frightened the canaries. After Mrs. Morris made his bed in the morning, the door was closed, and no one was supposed to go in till he canie from school. Once Billy and 1 followed him ujistairs without his knowing it, but as soon as he saw us he sent us down in a great hurry. One Huv Bella walked into his room to inspect the canaries, fsi^ ".v.ts ]uite a spoiled bird by this time, and I heard Carl teH/ng tha iamily afterward that it Wi\s as g()od aa a nlay f^ ,,r, Mifs Bella strutt'ug in with her GOI-DFISII AND TAKARIES. 77 breast 8t»ick out, and her little, concciterl air, and hear her say, shrilly : "Good nioriiiiisr, hirdd, gtxMl inoruingl IIuw <1(> yoii (i(», Carl ? (Hud to .-*i;e you, boy." "Well, I'm not glad to seo you," he saiil, decidedly, " '.iiid don't you evt r <'ome up liert.' again. You'd frighten my canaries to deutl.\." And he sent her Hying down- stairs. How cross she wa.s! She came sliritking to Miss Lrsura. " Bella loves hi rd.-3. Bella wouldn't hurt birds. < '!*.rr.s a hud hoy." Albss Laura petted and soothed her, telling her to go find Davy, and he W(juld play with her. Bella and the rat were great friends. It waa very funny to see tliera going about the house together. From the very first she had skt'd him, and coaxed him into her cage, where he soon hecarae quite at home, — so much so that he always slept there. About nine o'clock every evening, if he was not with her, s'^e went all over the house, crying : " Davy ! Davy! lime to go to bed. Come sleep in Bella's cage." lie was very fond of the nice sweet cakes she got to eat, but she never could get him to eat coffee ground.s — the food she liked best. Miss Laura spoke to Carl about Bella, and told him he had hurt her feelings, so he petted her a little to make up for it. Then his mother told him th.at she thought he was making a mistake in keeping his canaries so much to themselves. They had beeonie so tinu ■ wale'.! those canaries. They put their heads on one sidt ind locV^d first at tlu'ir little ba*!is and thon at us. Tl v knew we were stran- gers. Finally, as *v;> were all very quiet, they got into GOLDFISH AND CANARIES. 79 the water; and what a good time they had, fluttering their wings and splashing, and cleaning themst-ivia bu nicely. Then they got up on their perches and sat in the sun, sliaking theinsclves and picking at their feathers. Misa Laura cleaned each cage, and gave each bird some mixed rape and canary seed. I heard Carl tell her hefore he left not to give them much hemp seed, fur that was too fattening. He was very careful al)out their food. During the summer I had often seen him taking up nice green things to them : celery, chickwecd, tender cabLage, j)eache.s, uftples, pears, bananas ; and now at Christmas time, be had green stuff growing in pots on the window ledge. BeiMdes that, he gave them crumbs of coarse bread, crackers, lumps of sugar, cuttle-fiah to peck at, and a nuiiibtr of other things. Miss Laura did everything just as he told her, but I think she talked to the birds more than he did. She was very particular about their drink- ing water, and wished out the little glass cups that held it most carefully. After the canaries were clean and comfortable, ]\Ii.-3 Laura set their cages in the sun, and turned to the gold- fish. They were in large glass globes on the winrniug. She went away for a while, but every i\\\ hoiii-s through the day she ran up to Carl's room to ace how the so KEATTIFUL JOE. i" ^1 V ^' 9^ fish and canaries were getting on. If the room was too chilly she *"-n((l on ni^re lieat, but she did not keep it too warm, i'm that wouhl make the hiniri tender. After a lime the canaries got to know iier, and hoj)ped •gayly aronnd their caL'ts, and chirped and sang whenever they saw her coming. Tlicn she began to take some of them downstairs, and to let them out of their cages for an hour or two every day. Tliey were very happy hulc creature.*, an, tore up strips of muslin, and bandaged the broken le^ He put the little bird back in the eage, and it eeenied more comfortable. "1 think he will do now," he said to Mrs. Montague, " Imt hadn't you better leave him with me for a few days? " She trladlv aLrived to this and went awav, after tellinj; him that t)ic bird's name was Dick. The next morning at the breakfast table, I heard Carl telling his mother that as soon its he woke up he sprang out of bed and went to see how his canary was. During the night, poor, foolish Dick had picked olf the splinta from his leg, and now it was as bad as ever. " 1 shall liave to perform a surgical o}teration,"' he said. I did not know what he meant, so I watched him when, after breakfast, he brought the bird down to his mother's room. She held it while he took a pair of sharp scissorg, and cut its leg right off a little way above the broken place. Then V.e put some vaseline on the tiny stump, bound it up, and left Dick in his mother's care. All the morning, as she sat sewing, she watched him to see that he did not pick the bandage away. When Carl came home, Dick wa.s so much hotter that he had managed to fly up on his perch, and was eating F 82 nEArTiFtr, jok. I. A. ' i! eeods quite Kayl}-. " I'oor Dick ! " saul C'arl, "lot; and a etiiiiii)!" Dick imitated him in a lew little clurps. "A lof,' and a etsimp! ' " Wiiy, lie iH saying it too," exclaimed Carl, and burst out lau^hin^'. Dick Bcemed cluxrliil enouj,'h, hut it was very pitiful to see him drap^xinj; his poor little stump arountl the cji^'e, and rcstiti;: it ULrainst the perch to keep liiin from fallini,' When Mrn. MuiitaLrue came tiio next ilay, she could not hear to look at him. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, " I cannot take that di.sfigurod hird home." I could not lifl]) thinking how diderent .^^ho \v:us from Miss Laura, who loved any creature all the more for having soiih' hlemish aliout it. "What shall I do?" said Mrs. Montague. " I miss my little hird so much. I shall have to get a new one. Carl, will you sell mo one?" •' I will jfive you one, Mrs Montague," said the hoy, eagerly. " I would like to do so." Mrs Morris looked pleased to hear Carl say this. She used to fear sometimes, that in his love for making money, he would become selfish. Mrs. Montr-„ue was very kind to the Morris family, and Carl seemed (piite i)leased to do her a favor. lie took her up to iiis room, and let her choose the bird she liked best. She took a handsome, yellow one, called Harry. He was a good singer, and a great favorite of Carl's The boy put him in the cage, wrapped it up well, for it was a cold, snowy day, and carried it out to Mrs. Montague's sleigh. She gave him a ])leasant smile, and drove away, and Carl ran up the steps into the house. " It's all right, mother," he said, giving Mrs. Morris a hearty, boyis'u kiss, l.d tins. niilv, He bird ialled t,e of It up |ut to and riuht, kiss, Oni.DFI-M AM) ("ANAKIhiS, S2I M slio Stood waiting,' lor liim. " I doii'l mind Icttniij lu-r huv«' It." •' But you expected to sell tliat ""*> '.n't you? " slje a.«kod. " Mrs. Smith said inaylx' slii-'d take it when she oarno home from lioston, but I daresay sheM cliaiigo lier mind niid get one there." " How much were you going to ask for iiim? " "Well, 1 wouldn't sell IJarry for less than ten liulinrii, or rather, 1 wouldn't have sold iiim," and he ran out to the stable. Mrs. Mfjrris sat on the hall chair, pattinj me an I rublted against her, in rather an absent-minded way. Then she got up and went into her husband's study, and told him what Carl had done. Mr. Morns seemed very pleased to hear about it, hut when his wife asked him to do something to mak(! up the loss to the boy. he said : " I had rather not do that. To encourage a child to do a kind action, and then to re- ward him for it, is not always a sound principle to go upon." But Carl did not go without his reward. That evening, Mrs. Montague's coachman brought a note to the house addressed to .Mr. Carl Morns. He read it aloud to the family. My Dkar Caul: I am charmed with my little bird, and he has whispered to me one of the secrets of your room. You want tifteen dollars very much to buy some- thing for it. 1 am sure you won't be oliended with an old friend for su{)plying you the means to get this some- thing. Ada Montac.ue. "Just the thing for my stationary tank for the gold- fish," exclaimed Carl. " I've wanted it for a long time; IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Y .^. 4^ i^ %^ 1.0 I.I ■^1^ Hi 2.0 m 140 il Uliu 1.6 V r <^ A v^^' ■^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO (716)872-4303 •^ \ qv S> ^ 6^ > ^v^% 84 BEAUTIFUL JOK. but how in tbo world did she find out? I've never told any one." Mrs. Morris smiled, and said, " Barry must have told her," as she took the money from Carl to put away for him. Mrs. Montague got to be very fond of her new pet. She took care of him herself, and I have heard her tell Mrs. Morris most wonderful stories about him — stories so wonderful that I should say they were not true if I did not know how intelligent dumb creatures get to be under kind treat nent. • She only kept him in his cage at night, and when she began looking for him at bedtime to put him there, he al« ways hid hiiaself. She would search a short time, and then pit down, and he always came out of his hiding place, chirping in a saucy way to make her look at him. She said that he seemed to take delight in teasing her. Once when he was in the drawing room with her, she was called away to speak to some one at the telephone. When she came back, she found that one of the servant^ had come into the room and left the door open leading to a veranda. The trees outside were full of yellow birds, and she was in despair, thinking that Barry had flown out with them. She looked out, but could not see him. Then, lest he had not left the room, she got a chair and carried it about, standing on it to examine the walls, and see if Barry was hidden among the pictures and bric-a-brac. But no Barry was there. She at last sank down exhausted on a sofa. She heard a wicked, little peep, and look- ing up, saw Barry sitting on one of the rounds of the chair that she had been carrying about to look for him. Ho had been there all the time. She was so glad to see him, that she never thought of scolding him. QOLDFIBU AND CANABII:^. 85 it if He was never allowed to fly about the dining room dur- ing meals, and the table maid drove him out before shi) set the table. It always annoyed hitn, and he perched on the staircase, watching the door through the railings. If it was left open for an instant, he iluw in. One even- ing, before tea, he did this. There was a chocolate cake on the sideboard, and he liked the look of it so much, that he began to peck at it. Mrs. Montague happened to come in, and drove him back to the hall. While she was having tea that evening, with her hus- band and little byy, Barry flew into the room again. Mrs. Montague told Charlie to send him out, but her husband said, " Wait, he is looking for something." He was on the sideboard, peering into every dish, and trying to look under the covers. " He is after thf^ choco- late cake," exclaimed Mrs. Montague. "Here, Charlie, put this on the staircase for him," She cut off a little scrap, and when Charlie took it to the hall, Barry flew after him, and ate it up. As for poor, little, lame Dick, Curl never sold him, and he became a family pet. His cage hung in the parlor, and from morning till night his cheerful voice was heard, chirping and singing as if he had not a trouble in the world. They took great care of him. He was never al- lowed to be too hot or too cold. Everybody gave him a cheerful word in passing his cage, and if his singing was too loud, they gave him a little mirror to look at him- self in. He loved this mirror, and often stood before it for an hour at a time. \1'i »J ?_-^"X- I CHAPTER XII. MALTA, THE CAT. |HE first time I had a good look at the Morris cat, I thought she waa the quecrest-lookinj; animal I had ever seen. She was dark gray — just the color of a mouse. Her eyes were a yellowish- green, and for the first few days I was at the Morrises' they looked very unkindly at me. Then she got over her dislike, and we became very good friends. She was a beautiful cat, and so gentle and affectionate that the whole family loved her. She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel with some sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name was Malta, and she waa called a Maltese cat. I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one aa kind as Malta. Once she had some little kittens and they all died. It almost broke her heart. She cried and cried about the house till it made one feel sad to hear her. Then she ran away to the woods. She came back with a little squirrel in her mouth, and putting it in her basket, she nursed it like a mother, till it grew old enough to run away from her. She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss Laura used to wear a little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted any of her peta. MALTA, TUE OAT. 87 It waa a shrill wlustle, and we could hear it a lonj; way from home. I have seen her standing at the back door whistling for Malta, and the pretty creature's head would appear somewhere — always high up, for she was a great climber, and she would come running along the top of the fence, saying, " Meow, meow," in a funny, short way, Miss Laura would pet her, or give her something to eat, or walk around the garden carrying her on hei shoulder. Malta wsis a most alU'ctionate cat, and if Miss Laura would not let her lick her face, she licked her hair with her little, rough tongue. Often Malta lay by the fire, licking my coat or little Billy's, to show hei affection for us. Alary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and vised to keep Malta in the kitchen as much as she could, but nothing would make her stay down there if there was any music going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fond of music. As soon as Miss Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play, we came from all parts of the bouse. Malta cried to get upstairs, Davy scampered through the hull, and Bella hurried after him. If I waa outdoors I ran in the house, and Jim got on a box and looked through the window. Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder, his pink nose run in the curls at the back of her neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and Bella, and we never stirred till the music was over ; then we went quietly away. Malta waa a beautiful cat — there was no doubt about it. While I was with Jenkins I thought cats were ver- min, like rats, and I chased them every chance I got. Mrs. Jenkins had a cut, u guunt, long-legged, yellow creature, that ran whenever we looked at it. P8 BEAUTII''UL JOE. iMalta had been so kindly treated tliat she never ran from any one, except from Btrange dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her. If they came upon her sud- denly, she faced them, and she was a pretty good fighter when she was put to it. I once saw her having a brush with a big ma;stiir that lived a few blocks from us, and giving him a good fright, which just served him riglit, I was shut up in the parlor. Some one had closed the door, and I could not get out. I was watching Malta from the window, as she daintily picked her vayacr)ss the muddy street. She was such a soft, pretty, amiable- looking cat. She didn't look that way, though, when the mastili' rushed out of the alleyway at her. She sprang back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tail was enormous. Her eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and snarling, as if to say, " If you touch me, I'll tear you to jjieces 1 " The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her. He walked around and around, like a great, clumsy elepliant, and she turned her small body as he turned his, and kept up a dreadful hissing and spitting. Suddenly, I saw a Spitz dog hurrying down the street. He was going to help the mastiff, and Malta would be badly hurt. I had barked, and no one had come to let me out, so I sprang through the window. Just then there was a ciiange. Malta had seen the sec- ond dog, and knew she must get rid of the mastiff. With an agile bound, she sprang on his back, dug her sharp claws in, till he put his tail between his legs and ran up the street, howling with pain. She rode a little way, then sprang off, and ran up the lane to the stable. I was very angry, and wanted to fight something, so I pitched into the Spitz dog. He was a snarly, cross-grained Malta, the cat. 89 creature, no friend to Jim and me, and he would Lave been only too glad of a chance to holp kill Malta. I gave him one of the woi-st beuun;,'3 he ever had. I don't suppose it was quite right for me to do it, for Miss Laura says dogs should never fight ; hut he had worried Malta before, and he had no business to do it. vShe b(y longed to our family. Jim and I never worried his cat. I had been longing to give him a shaking for some tune, and now I felt for his throat through his thick hair, and dragged him all around the street. Then I let him go, and he was a civil dog ever afterward. Malta was very grateful, and licked a little place where the Spitz bit me. 1 did not get scolded for the broken window. Mary had seen me from the kitchen window, and told Mrs. Morris that I had gone to help Malta. Malta was a very wise cat. She knew quite well that she must not harm the parrot nor the canaries, and she never tried to catch them, even though she was letl alone in the room with them. I have seen her lying in the sun, blinking sleepily, and listening with great pleasure to Dick's singing. Miss Laura even taught her not to hunt the birds outside. For a long time she had tried to get it into Malta's head, that it was cruel to catch the little sparrows that came about the door, and just after I came, she .succeeded in doing so. Malta was so fond of Miss Laura, that whenever she caught a bird, she came and laid it at her feet. Miss Laura always picked up the little, dead creature, pitied it and stroked it, and scolded Malta till she crept into a cor- ner. Then Miss Laura put the bird on the limb of a tree, and Malta watched her attentively from her corner, One day Miss Laura stood at the window, looking out 90 BKAUTIKUL JOE. ;'■*"•-■,, iutu the garden. Malta was lying on the platform, staring at the sparrows that 'vere picking up cruiuhs from the ground. She trcmhled, and half rose every few minutes, as if to go after them. Then she lay down again. She was trying very hard nut to creep on them. Presently a ueighhor's cut came stealing along the fence, keeping one eye on Malta and the other on the sparrows. Malta was 80 angry ! She sprang up and chased her away, and then came hack to the platform, where she lay down again and waited for the sparrowii to come back. For a long time she stayed there, and never once tried to catch them. Miss Laura was so pleased. She went to the door, and said, softly, " Come here, Malta." The cat put up her tail, and, meowing gently, came in- to the house. Miss Laura took her up in her arms, and going down to the kitchen, asked Mary to give her a sau- cer of her very sweetest milk for the best cat in the United States of America. Malta got great praise for this, and I never knew of her catching a bird afterward. She was well fed in the house, and had no need to hurt such harmless creatures. She was very fond of her liome, and never went far away, as Jim and I did. Once, when Willie was going to spend a few weeks with a little friend who lived fifty miles froiu Fairport, he took it into his head that Malta should go with him. His mother told him that cats did not like to go away from home, but he said he would be good to her, and begged so hard to take her, that at last his mother consented. He had been a few days in this place, when he wrote home to say that Malta had run away. She had seemed very unhappy, and though he had kept her with him all the time, she hud acted as if she wanted to get away. MALTA, THE CAT. 91 When the letter was read to Mr. MorriB, he said, " Malta ia on her way home. Cats have a wonderful cleverness in finding their way to their own dwelling. She will be very tired. Let us go out and meet her." Willie had gone to this place in a coach. Mr. Morris got a buggy aJid took Miss Laura and me with him, and we started out. We went slowly along the road. Every little while Miss Laura bluw her whistle, and called, "Malta, Malta," and I barketl as loudly as 1 could. Mr. Morris drove for several hours, then we stopped at a house, had dinner, and tlien set out again. We were going through a thick wood, where there was a pretty straight road, when I saw a small, dark creature away ahead, trotting toward us. It was Malta. I gave a joy- ful bark, but she did nut know me, and plunged into the wood. I ran in after her, barking and yelping, and Misa Laura blew her whistle as loudly as she could. Soon there was a little gray head peeping at us from the bushes, and Malta bounded out, gave me a look of sur- prise, and then leaped into the buggy on Miss Laura's lap. What a happy cat she was ! She purred with delight, and licked Miss Laura's gloves over and over again. Then she ate the food they had brought, and went sound asleep. She was very thin, and for several days after getting home she slept the most of the time. Malta did not like dogs, but she was very good to cats. One day, when there was no one about and the garden was very quiet, I saw her go stealing into the stable, and come out again, followed by a sore-eyed, starved-looking cat, that had been deserted by some people that lived in the next street. She led this cat up to her catnip bed, i:; ! 02 BEAUTIFUL JOE. and watched her kindly, while she rolled and rubbed her- self in it. Then Malta had a rull in it herself, and they bfth went back to the stable. Catnip is a favorite plant with cats, and Miss Laura always kept some of it growing for Malta. For a long time this sick cat had a home in the stable. Malta carried her food every day, and after a time Miss Laura found out about her, and did what she could tu make her well. In time she got to be a strong, sturdy- looking cat, and Miss Laura got a home for her with an invalid lady. It was nothing new for the Morrises to feed deserted cats. Some summers, Mrs.. Morris said that she hud a dozen to take cure of. Careless and cruel people would go away for the summer, shutting up their houses, and making no provision for the poor cats that had been allowed to sit snugly by the fire all winter. At last, Mrs. Morris got into the habit of putting a little notice in the Fairport paper, asking people who were going away for the summer to provide for their cats during their ab> eence. CHAPTER XTII. for THE nEOINNINO OF AN ADVENTURE. |HE firet winter I was at the Morrises', I had nn adventure. It was a week before Christmna, and we were havini' cold frostv weather. Not much BDow had fallen, hut there was plenty of skating, and the boys were otf every day with their skates on a little lake near Fairport. Jim and I often went with them, and we had great fun scampering over the ice after tlieni, and slipping at every step. On this Saturday night we had just gotten home. It was quite dark outside, and there was a cold wind blow- ing, so when we came in the front door, and saw the red light from the big hall stove and the blazing fire in the parlor, they looked very cheerful. I was quite sorry for Jim that he had to go out to his kennel. However, he said he didn't mind. Tue brys got a plate of nice, warm meat for him and a bowl of milk, and carried them out, and afterward he went to sleep. Jim's kennel was a very snug one. Being a spaniel, he was not a very large dog, but liis kennel was as roomy as if he was a great Dane. He told me that Mr. Morris and the boys made it, and he liked it very much, because it was large enough for him to get up in the night and 94 UKAUTIFUL JOE. •^ ■ 11 Rtrctch hinusclf, when he gut tired of lying in one posi- tion. It waa laiaed a little from the ground, oud it had a thick layer of straw over the floor. Above waa a broad shelf, wide enough for him to lie on, and covered with an old catskin sleigh robe. Jim always} slept here in cold weather, because! it WJis farther awuy from the ground. To return to this December evening. I can remember yet how liungry I was. I could scarcely lie still till Miss Laura finished her tea. Mrs. Morris, knowing that her boys would bo very hungry, had Mary broil some beefsteak and roust some potatoes for them ; and didn't they smell good ! They ate all the steak and potatoes. It didn't matter to me, for 1 wouldn't have gotten any if they had been left. Mrs. Morris could not aUbrd to give to the dogs good meat that she had gotten for her children, so she used to get the butcher to send her liver, and bones, and tough meat, and Mary cooked them, and made soup and broth, and mixed porridge with them for us. We never got meat three times a day. Miss Laura said that it was all very well to feed hunting dogs on meat, but dogs that are kept about a house get ill if they are fed too well. So we had meat only once a day, and bread and milk, porridge, or dog biscuits, for our other meals. 1 made a dreadful noise when I was eating. Ever since Jenkins cut my ears off, I had had trouble in breathing. The flaps had kept the wind and dust from the inside of my ears. Now that they were gone my head was stuffed up all the time. The cold weather made me worse, and sometimes I had such trouble to get my breath that it seemed as if I would choke. If I had opened my mouth, THE BFX2INMN0 OF AN ADV£NTU1(£. \)& and breathed through it, as I have seen some people doing, I would have heun more comfortahle, but dogs always like to breathe through their noses. "You have taken more eoid, ' Hiiid Mi.s8 Laura, this night, us she put my plate of food on the floor for me. " Finish your meat, uiid then come and sit by the firo with me. What! do you want more?" I gave a little bark, so she filled my plate for the second time. Miss Laura never allowed any one to med- dle with us when we were eating. One day she found Willie teasing me by snatching at a bone that I was gnawing. " Willie," she said, " what would you do if you were just sitting down to the tublir feeling very hungry, and just as you began to cut your nieut and potatoes, I would come along and snutch the pinte from you ? " " I don't know what I'd do," he said, laughingly ; " but I'd want to wallop you." "Well," she said, "I'm afraid that Joe will 'wallop' you some day if you worry him about his food, for even a gentle dog will sometimes snap at any one who disturbs him at his meals ; so you had better not try his patience too fur." Willie never teased me afler that, and I was very glad, for two or three times I had been tempted to snarl at him. Afler 1 finished my tea, I followed Miss Laura up- stairs. She took up a book and sat down ;n a low chair, and I lay down on the hearth rug beside her. " Do you know, Joe," she said with a smile, " why you scratch with your paws when you lie down, us if to muke yourself a hollow bed, and turn around a great many times before you lie down ? " Of course I did not know, so I only stared at her. 96 BEAUTIFUL JOE. h " Yetrs and years ago," she went on, gazing down at me, ** there weren't any dogs living in people's houses, as you arc, Joe. They were all wild creatures running about the woods. They always scratched among the leaves to make a comfortable bed for themselves, and the habit has come down to you, Joe, for you are descended from them." This sounded very interesting, and I think she wa.s going to tell me some more about my wild forefathers, but just then the rest of the family came in. I always thought that this was the snuggest time of the day — when the family all sat around the lire — Mn. Morris sewing, the boys reading or studying, and Mr. Morris rith his head buried in : newspaper, and Billy and I on the door at theiv feet. This evening i was feeling very drowsy, and had almost dropped asleep, when Ned gave me a push with his foot, lie was a great tease, and he delighted in getting me to make a simpletou of myself. I tried to keep my eyes on the fire, but I could not, and just had to turn and look at him. lie was holding his book up between himself and bis mother, and was opening his mouth as wide as be could and throwing back his head, pretending to i.owl. For the life of me I could not help giving a loud howl. Mrs. Morris loo)' .d up and said, " Bad Joe, keep still." The boys were all laughing behind their books, for they knew what Ned was doing. Presently he started off again, and I was just beginning another howl that might have made Mra. Morris send me out of the room, when the door opened, and a young girl called Bessie Drury came in. had a cap on and a shawl thrown over her f*" THE BEGINNINQ OF AN ADVENTURE. 97 her sboulders, and abe bad just run acroas tbe street from her father's house. " Oh, Mrs. Morris," she said, " will you let Laura come over and stay with me to-night ? Mamma has just gotten a telegram from Bangor, saying that her aunt, Mrs. Cole, is very ill, and she wants to see her, and papa is going to take ber there by to-night's train, and 'she is afraid 1 will be lonely if I don't have Laura." " Can you not come and spend tbe night here ? " said Mrs. Morris. " No, thank you ; I think mamma would rather have me stay in our house." " Very well," said Mrs. Morris, " I think Laura would like to go." " Yes, indeed," said Miss Laura, smiling at her friend. " I will come over in half an hour." "Thank you so much," said Miss Bessie. And she hurried away. After she left, Mr, Morris looked up from his paper. " There will be some one in the bouse besides those two girls?" "Ob, yes," said .Mrs. Morris; "Mrs. Drury hasher old nurse, who baa been with ber for twenty years, and there arc two maids besides, and Donald, tbe coachman, who sleeps over tbe stable. So they are well protected." " Very good," said Mr. Morris. And he went back to bis paper. Of course dumb animals do not understand all that they hear spoken of; but I thiuL human beinip would be astonished if they knew bow much we can gather from their looks and voices. I knew that Mr. Morris did not quite like tbe idea of having bis daughter go to tbe Drurys* when the master and mistress of tbe house were cway, 80 I made up my mind tiat I would go with her. o I! I 98 BEAUTIFITL JOE. When she came downstaira with her little satchel on her arm, I got up acd stood bcaide her. "Dear, old Joe," she said, " you must not coine." I pushed niysolf out the door beside her afler she had kissed her mother and father and the boys. " Go back, Joe," she said, firmly. 1 had to step back then, but I cried and whined, and she looked at me in astonishment. " I will be back in the morning, Joe," she said, gently ; " don't squeal in that way." Then she shut the door and went out. I felt dreadfully. I walked up and down the floor and ran to the window, and howled without having to look at Ned. Mrs. Morris peered over her glasses at me in utter surprise. "Boys," she said, "did you ever see Joe act in that way before? " " No, mother," they all said. Mr. Morris waa looking at mc very intently. He hid always taken more notice of me than any other creature about the house, and I was very fond of him. Now I ran up and put my paws on Iiis knees. " Mother," he said, turning to his wife, " let the dog go.' " Very well," she said, in a puzzled way. " Jack, jujt run over with him, and tell Mrs. Drury how he is acting, and that I will be very much obliged if she will let hi."n stay all night with Laura." Jack sprang up, seized his cap, and raced down the front steps, across the street, through the gate, and up the gravelled walk, where the little stones were all hard and fast in the frost. The Drurys lived in a large, white house, with trees nil around it, and a garden at the back. They were rich people and had a great deal of company. Through the THE BUG INNING OF AN ADVENTURE. 99 the ju,5i cting, hi.-n summer I had often seen carriages at the door, and ladies and gcutlemcn in light clothes walking over the lawn, and sometimes I smelled nice things they were naving to eat. They did not keep any dogs, nor pets of any kind, so Jim and I never had an excuse to call there. Jack and I were soon at the front door, and he rang the bell and gave me in charge of the maid who opened it. The girl listei ^d to his message for Mrs. Drury, then she walked upstairs, smiling and looking at me over her shoulder. There was a trunk in the upper hall, and an elderly woman was putting things in it. A lady stood watchir g her, and when she saw me, she gave a little scream, " Oh, nurse! look at that horrid dog! Where did he come from? Put him out, Susan." I stood quite still, and the girl who had I .'ought me up* stairs, gave her Jack's message. " Certainly, certainly," said the lady, when the maid finished spealdng. " If he is one of the Morris dogs, he is sure to be a well-behaved one. Tell the little boy to thank his mamma for letting Laura come over, and say that we will keep the dog with pleasure. Now, nurse, we must hurry ; the cab will be here in five minutes." I walked softly into a front room, and there I found my dear Miss Laura. Miss Bessie was with her, and they were cramming things into a portmanteau. They both ran out to find out how I came there, and just then a gentleman c&vue hurriedly upstairs, and said the cab had come. There was a scene of great confusion and liurry, but ii a few minutes it was all over. The cab had rolled away, and the house was quiet. " Nurse, you must be tired, you had better go to bed," 100 BEAUTIFUL JOE. eaid Miss Bessie, turning to the elderly woman, us we all ctood in tiie hall. " Sudau, will yuu bring some supper to the diaiug room, for Miss Morris and me ? What will you have, Laura? " " What are you going to have? asked Miss Laura, with a smile* " Hot chocolate and tea biscuits." *' Then I will have the same." " Bring some cake too, Susan," said Miss Bessie, " and something for the dog. I dare say he would like some of that turkey that was left from diunnr." If I had had any ears, I would have pricked them up at this, for I was very fond of fowl, and I never got any at the Morrises', unless it might be a stray bone or two. What fun we had over our supper ! The two girls sat at the big dining table, and sipped their chocolate, and laughed and talked, and I had the skeleton of a whole turkey on a newspaper that Susan spread on the carpet. I was very careful not to drag it about, and Miss Bes- sie laughed at me till the tears came in he ' eyes. " That dog is a geutleman," she said ; " see how he holds the bones on the paper with his paws, and strips the meat off with his teeth. Oh, Joe, Joe, you are a funny dog! And you are having a funny supper. I have heard of quail on toast, but I never heard of turkey on newspaper." " Hadn't we better go to bed ? " said Miss Laura, when the hall clock struck eleven. " Yes, I suppose we had," said Miss Bessie. " Where is this animal to sleep ?" " I don't know," said Miss Laura ; " he sleeps in the stable at jome, or in tiie kennel with Jim." " Suppose Susan makes him a nice bed by the kitchen stove? " said Miss Bessie. THE BHGINNINO OP AN \DVKNTURE. 101 Susan made the bed, but I was not willing to sleep in it I barked so loudly when they shut me up aloue, that they had to let me go ujistairs with them. Miss Laura was almost angry with me, but I could not help it. 1 had come over there to protect her, and I wasn't going to leave her, if I could help it. . « Miss Bessie had a handsomely furnished room, with a soft carpet on the floor, and pretty curtains at the win- dows. There were two single beds in it, and the two girls dragged them close together, so that they could talk after they got in bed. Before Miss B&ssie put out the light, «he told Miss Laura not to be alarmed if she heard any one walking about in the night, for the nurse was sleeping across the hall from them, and she would probably come in once or twice to see if they were sleeping comfortably. The two girls talked for a long time, and then they fell asleep. Just before Miss Laura dropped off, she forgave me, and put down her hand for me to lick as I lay on a fur rug close by her bed. I was very tired, and I had a very sofl and pleasant bed, so I soon fell into a heavy sleep. But 1 waked up at the slightest noise. Once Miss Laura turned in bed, and another time Miss Bessie laughed in her sleep, and again, there were queer crackling noises in the frosty limbs of the trees outside, that made me start up quickly out of my sleep. There was a big clock in the hall, and every time it struck I waked up. Once, just after it had struck some hour, I jumped up out of a sound nap. I had been dreaming about my early home. Jenkins was afler me with a whip, and my limbs were quivering and trembling as if I bad been trying to get away frou him. 102 BEAUTIFUL JOE. m I sprang up and shook myself. Then I took a turn around the room. The two girls were breathing gently ; I could scarcely hear them. I walked to the door and looked out into the hall. There was a dim light burning there. The door of the nurse's room stood open. I went quietly to it and boked in. She was breathing heavily and muttering in her sleep. I went back to my rug and tried to go to sleep, but I could not. Such an uneasy feeling was upon me that I had to keep walking about. I went out into the hall again and stood at the head of the staircase. I thought I would take a wallc through the lower ball, and then go to bed again. The Drurys' carpets were all like velvet, and my paws did not make a rattling on them as they did on the oil cloth at the Morrises' I crept down the stairs like a cat, and walked along the lower hall, smelling under all the doors, listening as I went. There was no night light burning down here, and it was quite dark, but if there had been any strange person about I would have smelled him. I was surprised when I got near the farther end of the ball, to see a tiny gleam of light shine for an instant from under the dining-room door. Then it went away again. The dining room was the place to eat Surely none of the people in the house would be there after the supper we had. I went and sniffed under the door. There was a smell there ; a strong smell like beggars and poor people. It emelled like Jenkins. It was Jenkins. CHAPTER XIV. HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR. HAT was the wretch doing in the house with my dear Miss Laura? I thought J would go crazy. I scratched at the door, and ba rked and yelped. I sprang up on it, and though I was quite a heavy dog by this time, I felt as light as a feather. It seemed to me that I would go mad if I could not get that door open. Every few seconds I stopped and put my head down to the doorsill to listen. There was a ri ihing about inside the room, and a chair fell over, and some one seemed to be getting out of the window. This made me worse than ever. I did not stop to think that I was only a medium-sized dog, and that Jenkins would probably kill me, if he got his hands on me. I was so furious that I thought only of getting hold of him. In the midst of the noise that I made, there wa<» a screaming and a rushing to and fro upstairs. I ran up and down the ball, and half-way up the steps and back again. I did not want Miss Laura to come down, but how was I to make her imderstand ? There she was, in her white gown, leaning over the railing, and holding back her long hair, her face a picture uf surprise and alarm. 108 104 BEAUTIFUL JOB. H\: "The dog has gone mad," Brrcaracd Mias Benie. " Nurse, pour a pitcher of water on him." The nurse was more sensible. 8he ran downstairs, her night-cap flying, and a blanket that she had seized from her bed, trailing behind her. " There are thieves in the house," she shouted at the top of her voice, " and the dog has found it out." She did not go near the dining-room door, but threw open the front one, crying, " Policeman ! Policeman ! help, help, thieves, murder ! " Such a screaming as that old woman made I -She was worse than I was. I dashed by her, out through the hall door, and away down to the gate, where I heard some one running. I gave a few loud yelps to call Jim, and leaped the gate as the man before me had done. There was something savage in me that night. I think it must have been the smell of Jenkins. I felt as if I could tear him to pieces. I have never felt so wicked since. I was hunting him, as he had hunted me and my mother, and the thought gave me pleasure. Old Jim soon caught up with me, and I gave him a push with my nose, to let him know I was glad he had come. We rushed swiftly on, and at the corner caught up with the miserable man who was running away from us. I gave an angry growl, and jumping up, bit at his leg. He turned around, and though it was not a very bright night, there was light enough for me to see the ugly face of my old master. He seemed so angry to think that Jim an^ I dared to snap at him. He caught up a handful of stones, and with some bad word3 threw them at us. Just then, away in front of us, was a queer whistle, and then another one liko it behind us. Jenkins made a strange noise in his throat, HOW WE CAUailT THE BURGLAR. 106 and started to run down a side street, away from the direction of the two whistles. I was afraid that he was going to get away, and though I could not hold him, I kept springing up on him, and once I trippigd him up. Oh, how furious he was I He kicked mc against the side of a wall, and gave mo two or three hard blows with a stick that he caught up, and kept throwing stones at me. I would not give up, though I could scarcely see him for the blood that was running over ray eyes. Old Jim got so angry whenever Jenkins touched me, that he ran up behind and nipped his calves, to make him turn on him. Soon Jenkins came to a high wall, where he stopped, and with a hurried look behind, began to climb over it. The wall was too high for me to jump. He was going to escape. What should I do? I barked as loudly as I could for some one to come, and then sprang up and held him by the leg as he was getting over. I had such a grip, that I went over the wall with him, and left Jim on the other side. Jenkins fell on his face in the earth. Then he got up, and with a look of deadly hatred on his face, pounced upon me. If help had not come, I think he would have dashed out my briuis against the wall, as he dashed out my poor little brothei-s' against the horse's stall. But just then there was a running sound. Two men came down the street and sprang upon the wall, just where Jim was leaping up and down and barking in distress. I saw at once by their uniform and the clubs in their hands, that they were policemen. In one short instant they had hold of Jenkins. He gave up then, but he stood snarling at me like an ugly dog. " If it hadn't been for 106 BEAUTIFUL JOE. — ," and he " it's me o\. ii that cur, I'd never a been caught. Why etaggcrud back aud uttered a bad word, dog." "Mure shame to you," eaid one of the policemen, sternly ; " what have you been up to at this time o^ night, to have yuur own dog and a quiet minister's spaniel dog a chasing you through the street ? " Jenkins began to swear and would nut tell them any- thing. There wiis a huuse in tiie garden, and just at this minute some one opened a window and called out; "Hallo, there, what are you doing?" " We're catching a thief, sir," said one of the police- men, " leastwise I think that's what he's been up to. Could you throw us down a bit of rope ? We've no hand- cuffs here, and one of us has to go to the lock-up and the other to Washington street, where there's a woman yell- ing blue murder ; and hurry up, please, sir." The gentleman threw down a rope, and in two minutes Jenkins' wrists were tied together, and he was walked through the gate, saying bad words as fast as he could to the policeman who was leading him. " Good dogs," said the other policeman to Jim and me. Then he ran up the street and we followed him. As we hurried along Washington street, and came near our house, we saw lights gleaming through the darkness, and heard people running to and fro. The nurse's shriek- ing had alarmed the neighborhood. The Morris boys were all out in the street only half clad and shivering with cold, and the Drurys' coachman, with no hat on, and his hair sticking up all over his head, was running about with a lantern. The neighbors' houses were all lighted up, and a good many people were hanging out of their windows and HOW WE CAUGHT THE BURGLAR. 107 opcuing their doors, and colling to each other to know wliat ull thid nuisc meant. When tlic policeman apj>earc(l with Jim and me at hiB heels, quite a crowd gathered uruund him to hear liis part of the story. Jim and 1 dropped on tl>c ground panting as hard ns we could, and with little streams of water running from our tongues. We were hoth pretty well used up. Jim's buck was bleeding in several phices from the stones that Jenkins had thrown at him, and I was a mass of bruises. Presently we were discovered, and then what a fuss was made over us. " Brave dogs ! noble dogs ! " every- body said, and patted and praised us. We were very proud and happy, and stood up and wagged our tails, at least Jim did, and I wagged what I could. Then they found what a state we were in. Mrs. Morris cried, and catching me up in her arms, ran in the house with me, nnd Jack followed with old Jim. We all went into the parlor. There was a good fire there, and Miss Laura and Miss Bessie were sitting over it. They sprang up when they saw us, and right there in the parlor washed our Aounds, and made us lie down by the fire. " You saved our silver, brave Joe," said Miss Bessie ; "just wait till my papa and mamma come home, and see what they will say. Well, Jack, wliat is the latest? " as the Morris boys came trooping into the room. " The policeman has been questioning your nurse, and examining the dining room, and has gone down to the sta- tion to make his report, and do you know what he has found out? " said Jack, excitedly, "No — what?" asked Miss Bessie. " Why that villain was going to burn your house." 108 BEAUTIFUL JOE. Miss Rcasic gave a little ebriek. " Why, what do you mean ? " "Well," said Jack, *' they think hy what they discovered, that he phuiiifld to pack his bag with silver, and carry it oil'; but jiLst betoru he did so he would pour oil around the room, and set fire to it, so peoj)le would not find out that he had been robbing you." " Why we might have all been burned to death," said Miss Bessie. "lie couldn't burn the dining room with- out Betting fire to tlie rest of the house." " Certainly nut," said Jack, " that shows what a villain he is." " Do they kno this for certain. Jack ? " asked Miss Laura. "Well, they suppose so; they found some bottles of oil along with the bag he had for the silver." " How horrible ! You darling old Joe, perhaps you saved our lives," and pretty Miss Bessie kissed my ugly, swollen head. I could do nothing but lick her little hand, but always aflcr that I thought a great deal of her. It is now some years since all this happened, and I might as well tell the end of it : The next day the Drurys came home, and everything was found out about Jenkins. The night they left Fuirport he had been hanging about the station. He knew just who were left in the house, for he had once supplied them with milk, and knew all about their family. He had no customers at this time, for after Mr. Harry rescued me, and that piece came out in the paper about him, he found that no one would take milk from him. His wife died, and some kind people put his children in an asylum, and he was obliged to sell Toby and the cows. Instead of learning a lesson from all this, and leading a better life, he kept sinking lower. I HOW WE CAUOHT THE BDROLAn. 109 lie wa«, therefore, ready for any kind of luLxfliief that turned up, and when he eaw th«; l)rurys going uway io the train, he thouglit he woiihl steal a l>ug of eilver from their sideboard, then sot lire to tlie house, and run away and hide the silver. Alter a time he would take it to Borne city and sell it. He was made to confess all this. Then for his wicked- ness he was sent to prison for ten years, and I hope ho will get to be a better man there, and be ouo ailer ho comes (Hit. I was sore and stilf for a long time, and one day Mrs. Drury came over to see mc. She did not love do{;8 oa the Morrises did. She tried to, but she could nut. Dogs can see fun in things as well as people can, and I buried my muzzle in the hearth-rug, so that she would not seo how I was curling up my lip and smiling at her. " You — are — a — good — dog," she said, slowly. " You are " — then she stopped, and could not think of anything else to say to me. I got up and stood in front of her, for a well-bred dog should not lie down when a lady speaks to him. I wagged my body a little, and I would gladly have said something to help her out of her difficulty, but I couldn't. If she had stroked mc it might have helped her, but she didn't want to touch me, and I knew she didn't want me to touch her, so I just stood looking at her. " Mrs. Morris," she said, turning from me with a puzzled face, " I don't like animals, and I can't pretend to, for they always find me out ; but can't you let that dog know that I shall feel eternally grateful to him for saving not only our property, — for that is a trifle, — but my darling daughter from fright and annoyance, and a possible injury or loss of life ? " " I think he understands," said Mrs. Morris. " He is 110 BEAUTIFUL JOE. a very wise dog." And smiling in great amusement, she called me to her aud put ray puwg on her lap. " IjOoIc at that lady, Joe. She is pleased with you for driving Jenkins away from her house. You remember Jenkins ? " I barked angrily and limped tu the window. " How intelligent he is," aaid Mrs. Drury. " My hus- band has sent to New York for a watch-dog, and he says that from this on our house shall never be without one. Now I must go. Your dog is happy, Mrs. Morris, and I can do nothing for him, except to say that I shall never fcrget him, ard I wish he would come over occasionally to see us. Perhaps when we get our dog he will. I shall tell my cook whenever she sees him to give him some- thing to eat. This is a souvenir for Laura of that dread- ful night. I feel under a deep obligation to you, so I am sure you will allow her to accept it." Then she gave Mrs. Morris a little box and went away. When Miss Laura came in, she opened the box, and found in it a handsome diamond ring. On the inside of it was engraved : " Laura, in memory of December 20th, 18 — . From her grateful friend, Bessie." The diamond was worth hundreds of dollars, and Mrs. Morris told Miss Laura that she had rather she would not wear it then, while she was a young girl. It was not suitable for her, and she knew Mrs. Dnny did not expect ber to do so. She wished to give her a valuable present, and this would always be worth a great deal of money. CHAPTER XV. OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE. [very other summer, the Morris children were sent to some place in the country, so that they could have a change of air, and see what coun- try life was like. As there were so many of thero, they usually went different ways. The summer after I came to them, Jack and Carl went to an uncle in Vermont, Miss Laura went to another in New Hampshire, and Ned and Willie went to visit a maiden aunt who lived in the White Mountains. Mr. and Mrs. Morris stayed at home Fairport was a lovely place in summer, and many people came there to visit. The children took some of their peta with them, and the others they left at home for their mother to take care of. She never allowed them to take a pet animal anywhere, unless she knew it would be perfectly welcome. " Don't let your pets be a worry to other people," she often said to them, "or they will dislike them and you too." Miss Laura went away earlier tj;an the others, for she had run down through the spring, and was pale and thin. One day, early in June, we set out. I say " wo," fur after my adventure with Jenkins, Miss Laura said tliat I should never be parted from her. If any one invited her to come 111 Il 112 BKAIJTIFUL JOE. and see them, and didn't want me, she would stay at faoine. The whole family went to the station to see us off. They put a chaiu on my collar, and took me to the baggage of- fice, and got two tickets for me. One was tied to my col- lar, and the other Miss Laura put in her purse. Then I was put in a baggage car, and chained in a corner. I iieard Mr. Morris sav that as we were onlv going a short 'listance, it was not worth while to get au express ticket for me. There was a dreadful noise and bustle at the station. Whistles wer^ blowing, and people were rushing up and down the platform. Some men were tumbling baggage so fast into the car where I was, that I was afraid some of it would fall on me. For a few minutes Miss Laura stood by the door and looked in, but soon the men had piled up so many boxes and trunks that she could not &ee me. Then she went away. Mr. Morris asked one of the men to see that I did not get hurt, and I heard some money rattle. Then he went away too. It was the beginning of June, and the weather had sud- denly become very hot. We had a long, cold soring, and not being used to the heat, it seemed very hard to bear. Before the train started, the doors of the baggage car were closed, and it became (juite dark inside. The dark- ness, and the heat, and the close smell, and the noise, as we went rushing along, made me feel sick and frightened. I did not darr; to lie down, but sr.t up trembling and wishing that we might soon come to Riverdale Station. But we did Uv-t get there for some time, and I was to have a great fright. I was thinking of all the stories that I knew of auimak OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE. 113 travel! II LT. In February, the Druns' Newfoundland watch-dog Pluto, had arrived from New York, and he told Jim and me that he had a miserable journey. A gentleman friend of Mr. Drury's had brought hira from New York. He 8„-/ hira chained up in his car, and he weut into his Pullman, first tipping the baggage-mas- ter handsomely to look after liim. Pluto said that the baggage-master had a very red nose, and he was always getting drinks for himself when they stopped at a station, but he never once gave him a drink or anything to eat, from the time they left New York till they got to Fair- port. When the train stopped there, and Pluto's chain was unfastened, he sprang out on the platform, and nearly knocked Mr. Drury down. He saw some snow tliat had sifted through the station roof, and he was so thirsty that he began to lick it up. When the snow was all gone, he jumped up and licked the frost on the windows. Mr. Druiy's friend was so angry. He found the bag- gage-master, and said to him: " What did you mean, by coming into my car every few hours, to tell me that the dog was fed, and watered, and comfortable ? I shall re- port you." He weut into the office at the station, and complained of the man, and was told that he was a drinking man, and was going to be dismissed. I was not afraid of suffering like Pluto, because it was only going to take us a few hours to get to Riverdale. I found that we always went slowly before we came in to a station, and o:ie time when we began to slacken speed I thought that surely we raust be at our journey's end. However, it was not Riverdale. The car gave a kind of jump, then there was a crashing sound ahead, and we stopped. f i I It I 1 t I I! I '; I 114 BEAUTIFUL JOE. I heard men shoiitii ,' and running up and down, and 1 wondered wliat had happened. It was all dark and still in the car, and nobody came in, but the noise kept up outside, and I knew something had gone wrong with tlie train. I'sriiaps Miss Laura had got hurt. Something must have happened to her or slie would come to me. I harked and pulled at my chain till my neck wsissore, but for a long, long time I was there alone. The men running about outside must have hoard me. If ever I hear a man in trouble and crying i'ur help I go to hira and see what he wants. After such a long time that it seemed to me it must be the middle of tlie night, tlie door at the end of the car opened, aud a m.an looked in " This is all through bag- gage for New York, miss," I heard him say, "they wouldu'i put your dog in here." " Yes, they did — 1 am sure this is the car," I beard in the voice I knew so well, *' and won't you get him out, please? He must be terribly frightened." The man stooped down and unfastened my chain, grumbling to himself because I had not been put in another car. "Some folks tumble a dog round as if he was a junk of coal," he said, patung me kindly. I was neaiiy wild with deliglit to get with Miss Laura again, but I had barked so much, and pressed my neck so hard with my collar that my voice was all gone. I fawned on her, aud wagged myself about, and opened and shut my mouth, but no sound came out of it. It made Miss Laura nervous. She tried to laugh and cry at the same time, and then bit her lip hard, aud said : " Oh, Joe, don't." " He's lost his bark, hasn't he ? " said the man, looking at me curiously. I OQR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE. 11. '» "It is a wicked thin'T to confine an animal in a dark and closed car," said Miss Laura, trying to see lier way down the steps throiigii her tears. Tlie man put out his hand and helped her. " lie's not suffered much, miss," lie said, " don't you distress yourself. Now if you'd been a brakesman on a Chicago train, as I was a few years ago, and seen the animals run in for the stock yards, you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to hold a certain number of pigs, or sheep, or cattle, jammed full with twice as many, and half of 'em thrown out choked and smothered to death. I've seen a man running up and down, raging and swearing because the railway people hadn't let him get in to tend to his pigs on the road." Miss Laura turned and looked at the man with a very white face. " Is it like that now ? ' she asked. " No, no," he said, hadtily. " It's better now. They've got new regulations about taking care of tlie stock, but mind you, miss, the cruelty to animals isn't all done on the railways. There's a great lot of dumb creatures suf- fering all round everywhere, and if they could speak, 'twould be a hard showing for some other people besides the railway men." He lifted his cap and hurried down the platform, and Miss Laura, her face very much troubled, picked her way among the bits of coal and wood scattered about the platform, and went into the waiting room of the little station. She took me up to the filter and let some water run in her hand, and gave it to me to lap. Then she sat down and I leaned ray head against her knees, and she stroked my throat gently. There were some people sitting about the room, and. IIG dkai:tiful jok. I ' .- Mr i^^ from Ujeir talk, I found out what had taken place. There had been a freiglit train on a side track at this station, waiting for us to get by. The switcliinan had carelessly left the switch open after this train went by, and when we came along afterward, "our train, instead of running in by the platform, went crashing into the freight train. If we had been going fast, great damage might have been done. As it was, our engine was smas'^ed so badly that it could not take us on ; the passengers were frightened ; and we were liaving a tedious time waiting for another engine to come and take us to Riveniale. After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that Miss Laura could get no one to release me. While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman staring at us. He was such a queer-looking old gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He had briglit brown eyes, and a pointed face, and a shock of white hair that he shook every few minutes. He sat with. his hands clasped on the top of his cane, and he scarcely took his eyes from Miss Laura's face. Suddenly he jumped up and came and sat down beside her. " An ugly dog, that," he said, pointing to me. Most young ladies would have resented this, but Miss Laura only looked amused. " He see.iis beautiful to me,"' she said, gently. "H'ni, because he's your darting a sharp look at me. him?" " This is his fii-st journey by rail, and he's a little frightened." " No wonder. The Tjord only knows the suffering of animals in transportation," said the old gentleman. " My dear young lady, if you could see what I have seen. dog," said the old man, " What's the matter with OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDAI.E. 117 you'd never eat another bit of meat all the days of your life." Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. " I know — I have heard," she faltered. " It must be terrible." " Terrible — it's awful," said the gentlcnmn. " Think of the cattle on the western plains. Clicked with thir?t in summer, and starved and frozen in winter. Dehorned and goaded on to trains and steamers. Tossed about and wounded and suffering on voyages. Many of them dying and being thrown into the sea. Others landed sick and frightened. Some of them slaughtered on docks and wharves to keep them from dropping dead in their tracks. What kind of food does their flesh make? It's rank poison. Three of my family have died of cancer. I am a vegetarian." The strange old gentleman darted from his seat, and began to pace up and down the room. I was very glad he had gone, for Miss I^aura hated to hear of cr\ielty of any kind, and her tears were dropping thick and fast on my brown coat. The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and every one in the room had listened to what he said. Among them, was a very young man, with a cold, handsome face. He looked as if he was annoyed that tlic older man should have made Miss Laura cry. " Don't you think, sir," he said, as tlie old gentleman passed near him in walking up and down the Hoor, " that there is a great leal of mock sentiment about this business of taking care of the dumb creation ? They were made for us. They've got to suffer and be killed to supply our wants. The cattle and sheep, and other animals would over-run the earth, if we didn't kill them." I :if t I ! s + i 118 BEAUTIFUL JOE. " Granted," eaid the old man, stopping rif.'ht in front of him. "Granted, young man, if you take out that word suffer. The Lord made the sheep, and the cattle, and the pigs. They are his creatures just as much as we are. We can kill them, but we've no right to make them suffer." " But we can't help it, sir. ' " Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possible tniug to raise healthy stock, treat it kindly, kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men do that I, for one, will cease to be a vegetarian. You're only a boy. You haven't trav- eled as I have. I've been from one end of this country to the other. Up north, down south, and out west, I've seen sights that made me shudder, and I tell you the Lord will punish this great American nation if it doesn't change its treatment of the dumb animals committed to its care." The young man looked thoughtful, and did not reply. A^,very sweet- faced old lady sitting near him, answered the old gentleman. I don't think I have ever seen such a fine-looking old lady as she waa. Her hair was snowy white, and her face was deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall and stately, and her expression was as pleasing as my dear Miss Laura's. " I do not think we are a wicked nation," she said, softly. " We are a younger nation than many of the na- tions of the earth, and I think that many of our sins arise from ignorance and thoughtlessness." " Yes, madame, yes, madame," said the fiery old gentle- man, staring hard at her. " I agree with you there.'' She smiled very pleasantly at him, and went on. " I too have been a traveler, and I have talked to a great many wise and good people on the subject of the cruel OUR JOURNEY TO UIVERPALE. no •• I treatment of aiiinia!.-;, and I find tliat many of them have never tlioii;j;lit about it. Thoy, thpih.H.'lvt«, never know- ingly ill-treat a dumb creature, and when tlioy arc told stories of inhumau conduct, they say in surprise, ' Why, tiiese things surely can't exist ! ' You see tliey have never been brought in contact with them. As soon as they learn about them, they begin to agitate and say, ' We must have this thing stopped. Wiiere is tlie remedy ? ' " " And what is it, what is it, madame, in your opinion ? " said the old gentleman, pawing the floor with impatience. " Just the remedy that I would propose for the great evil of intemperance," said the old hidy smiling at him. " Legislation and education. Legislation for the old and hardened, and education for the voung and tender. I would tell the schoolboys and schoolgirls that alcohol will destroy the framework of their beautiful bodies, and that cruelty to any of God's living creatures will bligiit and destroy their innocent young souls." The young man spoke again. " Don't you think," he eaid, " that you temperance and humane people lay too ranch stress upon the education of our youth in all lofty and noble sentiments? The human heart will al\vay?i be wicked. Your Bible tells you that, doesn't it? You can't educate all the badness out of children." '■ We don't expect to do that," said the old lady, turn- ing her pleu-sant face toward liiiii ; " but even if the human heart is desperately wicked, shouldn't that make us much more eager to try to educate, to ennoble, and restrain ? However, as far as my experience goes, and I have lived in this wicked world for seveuty-tive years, I find that the human heart, though wicked and cruel as you say, has yet some soft and tender spots, and the 120 BEAUTIFUL JOK. J i;i impressions made upon it in youth are never, never ef- faced. Do you not remember better than anyining else, standing at your mother's knee — the pressure of her band, her kiss on your forehead?" By this time our engine hud arrived. A whistle was blowing, and nearly every one was rushing from the room, the impatient old gentleman among the first. Miss Laura was hurriedly trying to do up her shawl strap, and I was standing by, wishing that I could help her. The old lady and the young man were the only other people in the room, and we could not help hearing what they said. " Yes, I do," he said in a thick voice, and his face got very red. " She is dead now — I have no mother." *' Po r boy ! " and the old lady laid her hand on his shoulder. They were standing up, and she was taller than he was. " May God bless you. I know you have a kind heart. I have four stalwart l)oys, and you remind me of the youngest. If you arc ever in Washington, come to see me." She gave him some name, and he lifted ) iS hat and looked as if he was astonished to find out who she was. Then he too went away, and she turned to Miss Laura. " Shall I help you, my dear? " " If you please," said my young mistress. " I can't fasten this strap." In a few seconds the bundle was done up, and we were joyfully hastening to the train. It w.is only a few miles to Riverdale, so the conductor let me stay in the car with Miss Laura. She spread her coat out on the seat in front of her, and I sat on it and looked out of the car window as we sped along through a lovely country, all green and fresh in the June sunlight. How light and pleasant this car was — so dificrent from the baggage car. What OUR JOURNEY TO RIVERDALE. 121 irighton^ un niiimul most of ail things, is not to sec \vlii:re it is going, not to know wiitit is going to happen to it. 1 tiiink thut they are very liku human beingd in tbia rcripect. The ludv had taken a scat beside ^liss Laura, and ad we went along, she too looked out of the window and said iu a low voice : " Wliut is 8o rure as a dny in Juno, Then, if ever, coino perfect days." "That is very true,'" said Miss Laura, " iiow sad that the autumn must come, and the cold winter." "No, my dear, not sad. It is but a preparation for another summer." " Yes, 1 suppose it is," said Miss Laura. Tiien she continued a little shyly, as her companion leaned over to stroke my cropped ears : " You seem very fond of animals." "I am, my dear. I have four horses, two cows, a tame .squirrel, three dogs, and a cat." "Y'oa should be a happy woman," said Miss Laura, with a smile. " I think* I am. I must not forget my horned toad, Diego, that 1 got in California. I keep him in the green- house, and he is very happy catching flies and holding his horny head to be scratched whenever any one comes near." "I don't see bow any one can be unkind to animals," said Miss Laura, thoughtfully. " Nor I, my dear child. It has always caused me intense pain to witness the torture of dumb animals. Nearly seventy years ago, when I was a little girl walk- ing the streets of Boston, I would tremble and grow faint at the cruelty of drivers to over-loaded horses. I was 122 nE.ujTiKi:i. JOE. timid and did not ) around Mis.s Laura, " IIow ^dad I am to si'c you, and this is the d(j!.'. Good Joe, I have a hone wait- ing for you. Here is Uncle John." A tall, good-look injjj man stepped up and put out a hijj hand, in which my mistress' little fingers were(|uite swal- lowed up. "I am glad to see you, Laura. Well, Jo<', how d'ye do, old boy? I've heard about you." It made me feel very welcome to have them both notice me, and I was so glad to be out of the train that I frisked for joy around their feet as we went to the wagon. It was a big double one, with an awning over it to shelter from the sun's rays, and the horses wore drawn up in the shade of a spreading tree. Tliey were two powerful black horses, and as they had no blinders. on, they could see us coming. Their faces lighted up, and they moved their ears, and pawed the ground, and whinnied when Jlr. Wood went up to them. They tried to rub their heads against him, and I saw plainly that tiiey loved him. " Steady there, Cleve and Pacer," he said, " now back, back up." By this tinie, Mrs. Wood, Miss Laura, and I were in the wagou. Then Mr. Wood jumped in, took up the 128 124 BEAUTIFUL JOE. reins, and off we went. How the two black horses did spin along I I sat on the sent beside Mr. Wood, and 8uiifed in tlie delicious air, and the lovely smell of flowers and grass. How glad I was to be in the country ! What long races I should have in the green fields. I wished that 1 had another dog to run with me, and wondered very much whether Mr. Wood kept one. I knew I should soon find out, for whenever Miss Laura went to a place she wanted to know what animals there were about. We drove a little more than a mile along a country road where there were scattered houses. Miss Laura answered questions about her family, and asked questions about Mr. Harry, who was away at college and hadn't got home. I don't think I have said before that Mr. Harry was Mrs. Wood's son. She wa? a widow with one son when she married Mr. Wood, so that Mr. Harry, though the Morrises called him cousin, was not really their cousin. I was very glad to hear them say that he vas soon coming home, for I hud never forgotten that but for him I should never have known Miss Laura, and gotten into my pleasant home. By-and-by, I heard Miss Laura say : " Uncle John, have you a dog ? " " Yes, Laura," he said, " I have one to-day, but I sha'n't have one to-morrow." "Oh, uncle, what do you mean?" she asked. "Well, Laura," he replied, "you know animals are pretty much like people. There are some good ones and some bad ones. Now this dog is a snarling, cross-grained, cantankerous beast, and when I heard Joe was coming, I said : ' Now we'll have u good dog about the place, and here's an end to the bad one.' So I tied Bruno up, and DINQLEY FARM. 125 to-morrow I sliall shoot him. Something's got to be done or he'll be biting some one. " Uncle," said Miss Laura, " people don't always die when they are bitten by dogs, do they?" " No, certainly not," replied Mr. Wood. " In my luim- blo opinion there's a great lot of nonsense talked about the poison of a dog's bite and people dying of iiydroplio- bia. Ever since I was born I've had dogs snap at me, and stick their teeth in my flesh ; and I've never had a symptom of hydrophobia, and never intend to have. I believe half the people that are bitten by dogs frighten themselves into thinking they arc fatally poisoned. I was reading the other day about the policemen in a big city in England that have to catch stray dogs, and dogs sup- posed to be mad, and all kinds of dogs, and they get bit- ten over and over again, and never think anything about it. But let a lady or gentleman walking along the street have a dog bite them, and they worry themselves till their blood is in a fever, and they have to hurry across to France to get Pasteur to cure them. They imagine they've got hydrophobia, and they've got it because they imagine it. I believe if I fixed my attention on that right thumb of mine, and thought I had a sore there, and picked at it and worried it, in a short time a sore would come, and I'd be otf to the doctor to have it cured At the same time, dogs have no business to bite, and I don't recommend any one to get bitten." " But; uncle," said Miss Laura, " isn't there such a thing as hydrophobia?" " Oh, yes, I dare say there is. I believe that a careful examination of the records of deaths reported in Boston from hydrophobia for the space of thirty-two years, shows that two people actually died from it. Dogs are like all 12B BEAUTIFUL JOE. other animnl^. They're liable to sicknpss, and they've got to be watched. I tliink ray horsra would go mad if I starved them, or over-fed them, or over-worked them, or let them stand in laziness, or kept them dirty, or didn't give them water enough. They'd get some disease, any- way. If a person owns an animal, let him take care of it, and it's all right. If it shows signs of sickness, shut it up and watch it. If the sickness is incurable, kill it. Here's a sure way to prevent hydrophobia. Kill off all ownerless and vicious dogs. If you can't do that, have plenty of water where they can get at it. A dog that haa all the water he wants, will never go mad. This dog of mine has not one single thing the matter with him but pure ugliness. Yet, if I let him loose, and he ran through the village with his tongue out, I'll warrant you there'd be a cry of * mad dog.' However, I'm going to kill hira. I've no use for a bad dog. Have plenty of animals, I sav, and treat them kindly, but if there's a vicious one among them, put it out of the way, for it is a constant danger to man and beast. It's queer how ugly some peo- ple are about their dogs. They'll keep them, no matter how they worry other people, and even when they'ie snatching the bread out of their neighbors' mouths. But I say that is nut the fault of the four-legged dog. A hu- man dog is the worst of all. There's a band of sheep- killing dogs here in Riverdale, that their owners can't, or won't, keep out of mischief. Meek-looking fellows some of them are. The owners go to bed at night, and tlie dogs pretend to go too, but when the house is quiet and the family asleep, off goes Rover or Fido to worry poor, defenseless creatures that can't defend themselves. Their taste for sheeps' blood is like the taste for liquor in men, and the dogs will travel as far to get their fun, as DINGI.EY FARM. 127 the men will travel for theira. They've got it in thera, and you can't get it out." "Mr. Windham cured his dog," said Mrs. Wood. Mr. Wood burst into a hearty laugh. " St) he did, so he did. I must tell Laura about that. Windham is a neighbor of ours, and last summer 1 kept telling him that his collie was worrying my Shropshires. He wouldn't believe me, but I knew 1 was right, and one night when Harry was home, he lay in wait for the dog and lassoed bim. I tied him up and sent for Windham. You should have seen his face, and the dog's face. He said two words, ' You scoundrel ! ' and the dog cowered at his feet as if he had been shot. He was a fine dog, but he'd got cor- rupted by evil companions. Then Windham asked me where my sheep were. I told him in the pa^ure. Ho asked me if I still had my old ram Bolton. I said ye.s, aiid then he wanted eight or ten feet of rope. I gave it to him, and wondered what on earth he was going to do with it. He tied one end of it to the dog's collar, and holding tne other in his hand, set out for the pasture. He asked us to go with him, and when he got there, he told Harry he'd like to see him catch Bolton. There wasn't any need to catch him, he'd come to us like a dog. Harry whistled, and when Bolton came up, Wind- ham fastened the rope's end to his horns, and let him go. The ram was frightened and ran, dragging the dog with him. We let thera out of the pasture into an open field, and for a few minutes there was such a racing and chas- ing over that field as I never saw before. Hai'ry leaned up against the bars and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. Then Bolton got mod, and began to make battle with tiie dog, pitching into him with his horns. We soon stopped that, for the spirit had al^ /one 128 BEAUTIFUL JOE. out of Dasb. Windham unfastened tlie rope, and told liirn to get home, and if ever I saw a dog run, that one did. Mrs. Windham set great store by him, and her husbanu didn't want to kill him. But ho said Dash had got to give up his 8hee]>-killing, if he wanted to live. That cured him. He's never worried a sheep from that day to this, and if you offer him a bit of sheep's wool now, he tucks his tail between his legs, and runs for home. Now I must stop my talk, for we're in sight of the farm. Yonder'a our boundary line, and there's the house. You'll see a difference in the trees since you were here before." We had come to a turn iu the road where the ground sloped gently upward. We turned in at the gate, and drove between rows of trees up to a long, low, red house, with a veranda all round it. There was a wide lawn in front, and away on our right were the farm buildings. They too, were painted red, and there were some trees by them that Mr. Wood called his windbreak, because they kept the snow from drifting in the winter time. *I thought it was a beautiful place. Miss Laura had been here before, but not for some years, so she too was looking about quite eagerly. " Welcome to Dingley Farm, Joe," said Mrs. Wood, with her jolly laugh, as she watched me jump from the carriage seat to the ground. " Come in, and I'll introduce you to Pussy." "Aunt Hattic, why is the farm called Dingley Farm? " said Miss Laura, as we went into the house. " It ought to be Wood Farm." " Dingley is made out of ' dingle,' Laura. You know that pretty hollow back of the pasture? It is what they call a ' dingle.' So this farm was called Dingle Farm till the people around about got saying ' Dingley ' instead. » DTXGLEY FARM. 120 I suppose they found it easier. Why here ia Lolu coining to 366 Joe." Walking along the wide hall that ran through the house was a large tortoise-shell cut She liad a prettily marked face, and she was waving her large tail like a flag, and mewing kindly to greet her mistress. But when she saw me what a face she made. She flew on the hall table, and putting up her buck till it almost lifted her feet from the ground, began to spit at mc and bristle with rage. " Poor IjoIo," said Mrs. Wood, going up to her. " Joe is a good dog, and not like Bruno. He won't hurt you." I wagged myself about a little, and looked kindly at her, but she did nothing but suy bad words to me. It was weeks and weeks before I made friends with that cat. She waa a young thing, and had known only one dog, and he was a bad one, so she supposed all dogs were like him. There was a number of rooms opening off the hall, and one of them was the dining room where they had tea. 1 lay on a rug outside the door and watched them. There was a small table spread with a white cloth, and it had pretty dishes and glassware on it, and a good many dif- ferent kinds of things to cat. A little French girl, called Ad^Ie, kept coming and going from the kitchen to give V.\em hot cakes, and fried eggs, and hot coffee. As soon as they finished their tea, Mrs. Wood gave me one of the best meab that 1 ever had in my life. CHAPIER XVII m MR WOOD AND IIIS HORSES. I HE morning after we arrived in Riverdale, I waa up very early and walking around the house. I slept in the woodshed, and could run outdoors whenever I liked. The woodshed waa at the back of the house, and near it was the tool shed. Then there was a carriage house, and a plank walk leading to the barnyard. 1 ran up this walk, and looked into the first building I came to. It was the horse stable. A door stood open, and the morning sun was glancing in. There were sev- eral horses there, some with their heads toward ma, and some with their tails. I saw tluit instead of being tied up, there were gates outsi«le their stalls, and they could stand in any way they liked. There was a man moving about at tiie other end of the stable, and long before he saw me, 1 knew that it was Mr. Wood. What a nice, clean stable he had ! There was always a foul smell coming out of Jenkins's stable, but here the air seemeu as pure inside as outside. There was a number of little gratings in the wall to let in the fresh air, and they were so placed that drafts would not blow on the horses. Mr. Wood was going from one horse to another, giving them hay, and talking to them in a 180 MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES. 131 cheerfiil voice. At last he spied me, and cried out, " The top of the luoriiing to you, Joe ! You are up early. Don't come too near the horses, good dog," as 1 alked in beside him ; '' they might think you are another Bruno, and give you a sly bite or kick. I should have shot him long ago. 'Tis hard to make a good dog suffer for a bad one, but that's the way of the world. Well, old fellow, what do you think of my horse stable? Pretty fair, isn't It ? " And Mr. Wood went on talking to me, as he fed and groomed his horses, till I soon found out that his chief pride was in them. I like to have human beings talk to me. Mr. Morris often reads his sermons to me, and Miss Laura tells me secrets that I don't think she would tell to any one else. I watched Mr. Wood carefully, while he groomed a huge, gray cart-horse, that he called Dutchman. He took a brush in his right hand, and a curry-comb in his left, and he curried and brushed every part of the horse's skin, and afterward wiped him with a cloth. "A good groom- ing is equal to two quarts of oats, Joe," he said to me. Then he stooped down and examined the horse's hoofs. *' Your shoes are too heavy, Dutchman," he said ; " but that pig-headed blacksmith thinks he knows more about horses than I do. ' Don't cut the sole nor the frog,' I say to him. ' Don't pare the hoof so much, and don't rasp it ; and fit your shoe to the foot, and not the foot to the shoe,* and he looks as if he a, anted to sav, ' Mind ^our own busi- ness.' We'll i?ot go to him again. ' 'Tis hard to teach an old dog new tricks.* I got you to work for me, not to wear out your strength in lifting about his weighty shoes.'* Mr. Wood stopped talking for a few minutes, and whis- tled a tune. Then he began again. " I've made a study 1.32 BEAUTIFUL JOE. f ! i In of liorH'>8, .Joe. Over forty years I'vr studied them, and it's my opinion that the average horse knowa more than the average man that dris'es him. When I think of the stupid fools that are goading patient horses about, beating them and misunderstandmg them, and thinkmg they are only clods of earth with a little life in them, I'd like to take their horses out of the shafts and harness them in, and I'd trot them off at a pace, and slash them, and jerk them, till I guess they'd come out with a little less patience than the animal does. " Look at this Dutchman — see the size of him. You'd think he hadn't any more nerves than a bit of granite. Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as a girl s. See how he quivers if I run the curry-comb too harshly over him. The idiot I got him from, didn't know what was the mat- ter with him. He'd bought him for a reliable horse, and there he was, kicking and stamping whenever the boy went near him. ' Your boy's got too heavy a hand. Dea- con Jones,' said I, when he described the horse's actions ta me. • You may depend upon it, a four-legged creature, unlike a two-legged one, has a reason for everytinng ho does.' 'But he's only a draught horse,' said Deacon .Toaes. * Draught horse or no draught horse,' said I, ' you're describing a horse with a tender skin to me, and I don't care if he's as big as an elephant.* Well, the old man grumbled and said he didn't want any thoroughbred airs in his stable, so I bought you, didn't I, Dutchman?" and Mr. Wood stroked him kindly and went to the next Btall. In each stall was a small tank of water with a sliding cover, and I found out afterward that these covers were put on when a horse came in too heated to have a drink. At any other time, he could drink all Le liked. Mr. MIU WUOD ASD aib UoiUl^.H. \:vi Wood believed in having plenty of pure water /or nil his animals, and they ail had their own place jt a drinlc. Even I had a little bowl of water in the woodshed, though I could easily have run up to the barnyard when I wanted a drink. As soon as I came, Mrs. Wood asked Adele to keep it there for me, and wht-u 1 looked up gratefully at her, she said : " Every animal should have its own feeding place and its own sleeping place, Joe, that is only fair." The next horses Mr. Wood groomed were the black ones, Cleve and Pacer. Pacer had something wrong with his mouth, and Mr. Wood turned back his lips and examined it carefully. This he was able to do, for there were large windows in the stable and it was as light as Mr. Wood's house was. " No dark corners here, eh Joe ? " said Mr. Wood, as he came out of the stall and passed me to get a bottle from a shelf. " When this stable was built, I said no dirt holes for careless men here. I want the sun to shine in the corners, and I don't want my horses to smell bad smells, for they hate them, and I don't want them start- ing when they go into the light of day, just because they'v i been kept in a black hole of a stable, and Pve never uad a sick hoi-se yet." He poured something from the bottle into a saucer, and went back to Pacer with it. I followed him and stood outside. Mr. Wood seemed to be washing a sore in the horse's mouth. Pacer winced a little, and Mr. Wood said: "Steady, steady, my beauty, 'twill soon be over." The horse fixed his intelligent eyes on his master and looked as if he knew that he was trying to do him good. 134 BKAUTIFUL JOE. < 'in "Just look at these lips, Joe," said Mr. Wood, "deli- cate uiiil tine like our own, and yet there are brutes that will jerk them as if they were made of iron. 1 wish the Ix>id would give horses voices just for one week. I tell you they'd scare some of us. Now Pacer, that 's over. I'm not going to dose you much, for I don't believe iu it. If a horse has got a serious trouble, get a good horse doctor, say I. If it's a simple thiug, try a simple remedy. There's been many a good horse drugged and dosed to death. Well, Scamp, my beauty, how are you, this morning?" In the stall next to Pacer, "wafi a small, jei-black mare, with a lean head, slender legs, and a curious restless manner. She was a regular greyhound of a horse, no spare flesh, yet wiry and able to do a great deal of work. She was a wicked-looking little thing, so 1 thought I had better keep at a safe distance from her heels. • Mr. Wood petted her a great deal, and I saw that she was his favorite. " Saucebox," he exclaimed, when she pretended to bite him, " you know if you bite me, I'll bite back again. I think I've conquered you," he said, proudly, as he stroked her glossy neck, "but what a dance you led me. Do»you remember how I bought you for a mere song, because you had a bad habit of turning around like a flash in front of anything that frightened you, and bolting ofl* the other way ? And how did I cure you, my beauty ? Beat you and make you stubborn ? Not I. I let you go round and round ; I turned you and twisted you, the oflener the better for me, till at last I got it into your pretty head that turning and twisting was addling your brains, and vou'd better let me be master. "You've minded me from that day, haven't you? Horse, or man, or dog aren't much good till they learn to i MR. W(H)D AND II 18 HOR8F». 135 oHy, aud I've throwu you down, and I'll do it !i.^ain if you bite luo, ao take car.'." .Scamp tossed her pretty head, and took little pieec.s of Mr. Wood's shirt sleeve in her mouth, keeping her cun- uiug brown eye on him lus if to see how far she couM go. But she did not bite him. I thiiik she loved him, l<*r when he left her she whinnied shrilly, and he had to go back and stroke and caress her. After that I often used to watch her as she went about the farm. She always seemed to be tugging and striving at her load, aud trying to step out fast and do a great deal of work. Mr. Wood was usually driving her The men didn't like her, aud couldn't manage her. She had not been properly broken in. After Mr. Wood finished his work he went and stood in the doorway. There were six horses altogether ! Dutchman, Cleve, Pacer, Scamp, a bay mare called Ruby, and a young horse belonging to Mr. Harry, whose name was Fleetwood. " What do you think of them all ? " said Mr. Wood, looking down at me. "A pretty fine-looking lot of horses, aren't they? Not a thoroughbred there, b"t worth as much to me as if each had a pedigree as long as this plank walk. There's a lot of humbug about this pedigree busi- ness in horses. Mine have their manes and fails anyway, and the proper use of their eyes which is laore liberty than some thoroughbreds get. " I'd like to see the man that would persuade me to put blinders or check-reins or any other instrument of torture on my horses. Don't the simpletons know that blinders are the cause of — well, I wouldn't like to say how many of our accidents, Joe, for fear you'd think me extrav- agant, and the check-rein drags up a horse's head out of Il 136 BEAUriFUL JOE. Its fine natural curve ai d pros? nincws, t)onc>fl, and joinU together, till the borso is \vell-ni!;h mad. Ah, Joe, this is a cruel world for man or buiuit. You're a standing token of that, with your niLsHiug cars and tail. And now I've got to go ani warm till night. Speaking of shallow drinking dLshes, I wouldn't use them, even before I ever heard of a drinking fountain. John made me something that we read about. He used to take a powder keg and bore a little Iiole in the side^ about an inch from the top, then fill it with water, and cover with a pan a little larger round than the keg. Then he turned the keg upside down, without taking away the pan. The water ran into the pan only aa far as the hole in the keg, and it would have to be used before more would flow in. Now let us go and see my beautiful, bronze turkeys. They don't need any houses, for they roost in the trees the year round." We found the flock of turkeys, and Miss Laura ad- mired their changeable colors very much. Some of them were very large, and I did not like them, for the gobblers ran at me, and made a dreadful noise in their throats. Afterward, Mrs. Wood showed us some ducks that she had shut up in a yard. She said that she was feeding them on vegetable food, to give their flesh a pure flavor, and by-and-by she would send them to market and get a high price for them. Every place she took us to was as clean as possible. "No one can be successful in raising poultry in large numbers," she said, " unless they keep their quarters clean and comfortable." 11^ 142 BEAUTIFUL JOE. As yet we had seen no hens, except a few on the ne«t8, and Miss Laura said, " Where are they? I should like to see them." " They are coming," said Mrs. Wood. " It is just their breakfast time, and they are as punctual as clockwork. They go off early m the morning, to scratch about a little for themselves firat." Aq she spoke she stepped off the plank walk, and looked off toward the fields. Miss Laura burst out laughing. Away beyond the barns the hens were coming; Seeing Mrs. Wood stand- ing there, they thought they were late, and began to run and fly, jumping over each other's backs, and stretching out their necks, in a state of great excitement. Some of their legs seemed sticking straight out behind. It was very funny to see them. They were a fine-looking lot of poultry, mostly white, with glossy feathers and bright eyes. They greedily ate the food scattered to them, and Mrs Wood said, '' They thmk I've changed their breakfast time, and to-morrow they'll come a good bit earlier. And yet some people say henp have no semi .' t^^^SS^^^^SSSSS^^SS^^SS^^S^^^^^^^^^^^^^S CHAPTER XIX. A BAND OF MERCY. FEW evenings after we came to Dingley Farm, Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura were sitting out on the veranda, and I was lying at their feet. "Auntie," said Miss Laura, "what do those letters mean on that silver pin that you wear with that piece of ribbon?" " You know what the white ribbon means, don't you ? " asked Mrs. Wood. " Yes ; that you are a temperance woman, doesn't it ? " " It does ; and the star pm means that I am a member of a Band of Mercy. Do you know what a Baud of Mercy is ? " " Ku," said Miss Laura. " How strange ! I should think that you would have several in Fairport. A cripple boy, the son of a Boston artist, started this one here. It has done a great deal of good. Tliere is a meeting to-morrow, and I will take you to it if you like." It was on Monday that Mrs. Wood had this talk with Miss Laura, and the next afternoon, after all the work was done, they got ready to go to the village. " May Joe go ? " asked Miss Laura. " Certainly," said Mrs Wood ; " he is such a good dog that he won't be any trouble." 149 144 BEAUTIFUL JOE, I was very glad to hear this, and trotted along by them down tlie lane to the road. The lane was a very cool and pleasant place. There were tall trees growing on each eido, and under them, among the grass, pretty wild flower:^ wore peeping out to look ut us as we went by. Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura talked all the way about the Band of Mercy. Miss Laura was much interested, and said that she would like to start one in Fairport. " It is a very simple thing," said Mrs. Wood. " All you have to do is to write the pledge at the top of a piece of paper : ' I will try to be kind to all harmless living creatures, and try to protect them from cruel usage,' and get thirty people to sign it. Tliat njakes a band. " I have formed two or three bands by keeping slips of paper ready, and getting people that come to visit me to sign them. I call them ' Corresponding Bands,' for they are too far apart to meet. I send the members 'Band of Mercy* papers, and I get such nice letters from them, telling me of kind things they do for animals. "A Baud of Mercy in a place is a splendid thing. There's the grea^^cst diffe/euce in Riverdale since this one was started. A few years ago, when a man beat or raced his horse, and any one interfered, he said : * This horse is mine, I'll do what I like with him.' I^Iost people thought he was right, but now they're all for the poor horse, and there isn t a man anywhere around who would dare to abuse any animal. " It's all the children. They're doing a grand work, and I say it's a good thing for them. Since we've studied this subject, it's enough to frighten one to read what is sent i!s about our American boys and girls. Do you know, Laura, that ', 'th all our brag about our schools and ▲ BAND OF MRRCY. 145 you and colleges, that really are wonderful, we're turning out more criminals tliau any other civilized country iu the world, except Spain and Italy. The cause of it is said to be lack of proper training for the youth of our land. Iinmifjratiou has soniethinur to do with it too. We're thinking too much about educating the mind, and for- getting about the heart and soul. So I say now, while we've got all our future population in our schools, saints and sinners, good people and bad people, let us try to slip in something between the geography, and history, and grammar that will go a little deeper, and touch them so much that when they are grown up and go out in the word, they will carry with them lessons of love and good will to men. " A little child is such a tender thing. You can bend it anyway you like. Speaking of this heart education of children, as set over against mind education, I see that many school-teachers say that there is nothing better than to give them lessons on kindness to animals. Children who are taught to love and protect dumb creatures, will be kind to their fellow-men when they grow up." I was very much pleased with this talk between Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura, and kept close to them, so that I would not miss a word. As we went along, houses began to appear here and there, set back from the road among the trees. Soon they got quite close together, and I saw some shops. This was the village of Kiverdale, and nearly all the buildings were along this winding street. The river was away back of the village. We had already driven there several times. We pa&sed the school on our way. It was a square, \rhite building, standing in the middle of a large yard. I! i!; 14G UEAUTIFUL JOE. Boys and girls with their arnw full of books, were hurry- ing clown the Btcjw, and coming into the street. Two quite bii,' boys came beliind us, und Mrs. Wood turned around and spoke to them, and asked if they were going to the Bund of Mercy. " Oh, yes, ma'am," said the younger one. " I've got a recitation, don't you remember ? " " Yes, yes, excuse me for forgetting," said Mrs. Wood, witii her jolly laugh. "And here are Dolly, and Jennie, and Martha," she went on, as some little girls came run- ning out of a house that we were passing. The little giris joined us, and looked so hard at my head, and stump of a tail, and ray fine collar, that I felt quite shy, and walked with my head against Miss Laura's dress. She stooped down rnd patted me, and then 1 felt as If 1 didn't care how much thev stared. Miss Laura never forgot me. No matter how earnestly she was talking, or playing a game, or doing anything, she alwMvs stopped occasionally to give me a word or look, to show that she knew I was near. Mrs. Wood paused in front of a building on the main street. A great many boys and girls were going in, and we W2nt with them. We found ourselves in a large room, with a platform at one end of it. There were some chairs onthid platform, and a small table. A boy stood by this table with his hand on a bell. Presently he rang it, and then every one kept still. Mrs. Wood whispered to Miss Laura that this boy was the president of the band, and the young man with the pale face and curly hair who sat in front of him, was Mr. Max- well, the artist's son, who had formed this Band of Mercy. The lad who presided had a ringing, pleasant voice. He said they would begin their meeting by singing a A BAND OF MERCV. 147 I hymn, There was an (jrgan ncnr the platform, and a young girl played on it, while all tito utlier boys and girla stood up, and sang very sweetly and clearly. Atlcr they had sung the hymn, the president asked for the report of their hist meeting. A little girl, blushing and hanging her head, camefor- ward, and read what was written on a paper that she held in her hand. The president made some remarks after she had iin- ished, and then every one had to vote. It was just like a meeting of grown people, and I was surprised to see how good those children were. They did not frolic nor laugh, but all seemed sober and listened attentively. After the voting was over, the president called upon John Turner to give a recitation This W(is the boy whom we saw on the way there. He walked up to the platform, made a bow, and said that he had learned two stories for his recitation, out of the paper, " Dumb Animals." One story was about a horse, and the other was abcit a dog, and he thought that they were two of the best animal stories on record. He would tell the horse story first. " A man in Missouri had to go to Nebrask i to see about some land. He went on horseback, on a horse that he had trained himself, and that came at his whistle like a dog. On getting into Nebraska, he came to a place where there were two roads. One went by a river, and the other went over the hill. The man saw that the travel went over the hill, hut thought he'd take the river road. He didn't know that there was a quicksand across it, and that people couldn't use it in spring and summer. There used to be a sign board to tell strangers about it, but it had been taken away. The man got ofi* his horse to let him graze, and walked along till he got so far. ahead of ]\H beai;tiful joe. the hurse, that he had to sit drwii and wait fur him. Sud- ^■'■■vj dcnly he found th Hi had ic WU.S <i-ae8 in ray mind that I never had till I came here to-day." Every one present cheered wildly, and he began, in a sing-song voice : " I am a Band of Mercy boy, I would not hurt a fly, I always speak to dogs and cats, When'er I pass thom by. " I always let the birdies sing, I never throw a stone, I always give a hungry dog A nice, fat, racaty bone. " I wouldn't drive a bob-taikvl horse. Nor hurry up n cow, 1 " Then he forgot the rest. The boys and girls w6re so sorry. They called out, " Pig," '• Goat," " Calf," " Sheep," " Hens," " Ducks," and all the other animals' names they could think of, but none of them was right, and as the boy had just made up the poetry, no one knew what the next could be. He stood for a long time staring at the ceiling, then he said, " I guess I'll have to give it up." The children looked dreadfully disappointed. " Per- haps you will remember it by our next meeting," said the president, anxiously. " Possibly," said the boy, " but probably not. I think it is gone forever." And he went to his scat. The next thing was to call for new members. Miss Laura got up and said she would like to join their Band of Alercy. I followed her up to the platform, while they pinned a little badge on her, and every one laughed at 8TOIUK-i ABOUT ANIMAIX. 163 me. Then they sang, " God bless our native lind," and the president told iis that wo might all go homo. It seemed to mo a lovelv thing for those children to meet togtiher to talk ahout kindness to animals. Thoy uU had bright and good faces, and many of them stopped to jjat me as I came out. One litlJe girl gave me a bis- cuit from her school bag. Mrs. Wood waited at the door till Mr. Maxwell came limping out on his crutches. 8lie introduced him to Miss Laura, and asked him if he wouldn't go and take tea with thera. He said he would be very happy to do so, and tlien Mrs. Wood laughed, and asked him if ho hadn't better empty his pocket-s first. She didn't want a little toad jumping over her tea table, as one did the last time he was there. CHAPTER XXI. MR MAXWKLL AM) MK. IIARRT. R MAXWELL wore a coat with loose pocketa, and while she was speaking, he rer^cd on bis crutches, and hoiran to slap them with his hauds. "No; there's nothing here to-day,'* he said, " I think I emptied my pockets before I went to tlie moeting." Just as he said that there was a loud squeal : " Oh, ray guinea pig," he exclaimed, " I forgot him," and he pulled out a little spotted creature a few inches long. "Poor Derry, did I hurt you? " and he soothed it very tenderly. I stood and looked at Mr. Maxwell, for I had never seen any one like him. He had thick curly hair and a white face, and he looked just like a girl. While I waa staring at him, something peeped up out of one of his pockets and ran out its tongue at me so fast that I could scarcely see it, and tlien drew back again. I was thun- derstruck. I had never seen such a creature before. It was long and thin like a boy's cane, and of a bright green color like grass, and it had queer shiny eyes. But its tongue was the strangest part of it. It came and went like lightning. I was uneasv about it and began to bark. " What's the matter, Joe?" said Mrs. Wood, "the pig won't hurt you." But it wasn't the pig I was afraid of, and I kept on 164 MR. MAXWKLL AND MK. lIAUIiV. 165 my barking. And all the time tliot. strange live thing kept sticking up itd head and putting out its tongue at mo, and li either of them noticed it. " It'a getting on toward six," said Mrs. Wood, " we must be going home. Come, Mr. Maxwell." The young man put the guinea pig in liifl pocket, picked up his crutches, and Viv started down the sunny village street. He left iiis guinea pig at his boarding house as he went by, but he said nothing about the otlier creature, so I knew he did not know it was tiiere. I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell. He seemed so bright and happy, in spite of liis lameness, whicii kept Lira from running about like otlier young men. He looked a little older than Miss Laura, and one day, a week or two later, when they were sitting on the veranda, I heard him tell her thatiie was just uiueteeu. He told her too that his lameness made iiim love uninmls. They never laughed at him, or sliglited him, or got impatient, because he could not walk quickly. They were alwa\s good to him, and he said he loved all animals while he liked very few people. On this day, as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood : " I am getting more absent-minded every day. Have you hear of ray latest escapade? " " No," she said. " I am glad," he replied. " I was afraid that it would be all over the village by this time. I went to church last Sunday with my poor guinea pig in my pocket. He hasn't been well, and I was attending to him belore church, .ind put him in there to get warm, and forgot about him. UnforCiiuuLly I was late, and the back seits were all full, so I had to sit farther up than I us .uly d >. During the first hymn I hap})eued to strike Piggy against I ! 166 BKAUTIFUL JOE. the sido of the scat. Such an car-splitting Sfiueal as be set up. It sounded as if I vaa murdering him. The jMio- ple stared and stared, and I hud to leave the church, overwhehncd with coufudion." Mrs. Wood and Miss Laura laughed, and then they got talkiu'' about otlur matters that were not interesting to me, so I (lid nut listen. But 1 kept close to Miss Laura, for I wa:s afraid tli-it green tiling might hurt her. I won- dered very much what its name was. I don't think I should have feared it so !auch if I had known what it was. There's something the matter with Joe," said Mias Laura, when we got into the lane. " What is it, dear old fellow ? " She put down her little hand, and I licked it, and wished so much that I could speak. Sometimes I wish very much that I had the gift of speech, and then at other tiraeg I see how little it would profit me, and how many foolish things I should often say. And I don't believe human beings would love animals as well, if they could speak. When we reached the house, we got a joyful surprise. There was a trunk standing on the veranda, a:id as soon as Mrs. Wood saw it, she gave a little shriek : " My dear boy!" Mr. Harry was there, sure enough, and stepped out through the open door. He took his mother in hi:^ arms and kissed her, then he shook hands with Miss Laura and Mr. Maxwell, who seemed to be an old friend of his. They all sat down on the veranda and talked, and I lay at Miss Laura's feet and looked at Mr. Harry. He was such a handsome young man, and had such a noble face. He was older and graver looking than when I saw him last, and he had a light, brown moustache that he did not have when he was in Fairport. he i out arms a and his. lay was face. him id not M MAXWKLL AND Mi:. UA'.llY 1G7 lie seemed very fond of his motiior and of Miss Laura, and however grave his face might l)e when he was looiviug at Mr. Maxwell, it always li;,'lited up when he turned" to tlicm. "What dog is that? ' he said at last, with a puz- zled face, and pointing to mc, " Whv, Harrv," exclaimed Miss Laura, "don't vou know Beautiful Joe, that you rescued from that wretche*untring of the chiu«>."' " I don't see why they need to he killed at all," said Mrs, Wooil. "Ifl knew that tore.«t back ot tii'? moun- tains was full of wild creatures, 1 think 1 d be glad of it, and not want to hunt them, that is, if they were harmleaa and beautiful creatures like the deer." "You're a woman," said Mr. Wood, "and women are mure merciful than men. Men want to kill and slay. They're like the Englishman, who said: 'What a tine day it is; let's go out and kill something.'" " Please tell us some more about the dogs that helped you catch the mouse, uncle," sai. An- other way, was to fix bait in a certain place, with cords tied to it, which cords were fiustened t(» triggers of guns placed at a little distance. When the bear took tiie bait, the guns went off, and be shot himself. "Sometimes it took a gooil manv bullets to kill them. I remember one old fellow that we put eleven into, before he keeled over. It was one fall, over on Tike's Hill. The snow had come earlier tlian usual, and this old bear hadn't got into his den for his winter's sleep. A lot of us started out after him. The hill was covered with beech trees, and he'd been living a'i the fall on the nuts, till he'd got as fat as butter. We took dogs and worried him, and ran him from one place to another, and shot at him, till at last he dropped. We took his meat home, and had his skin tanned for a sleigh robe. " One day I was in the woods, and looking through the tjees espied a bear. He was standing uj) on his hind legs SDulfiDg in every direction, and just about the time I TRAI'PINO Wii.I) AMMAIA 185 08{iit>(l liiin, he espiod inc. I htul no dot; nnd nn jr(in, so I thuii^lit i iiad iK'tter he gcttiiij^ luduc to luy diiiiier. I WM a. 8i)iall lioy tiu-ti, niul tlit; In'iir prnliahly thinking I'd he u mouthful for him anyway, h«v^an to conio nflcr nio in a K'i.l. It was a inixeil, dt'i^p baying, that niadu tlie bhxul :5 they went. "Then Mr Fox would try a new trick. He would climb a leaning tree, and then jurtip to the ground. This trick would soon be found out. Then he'd try another. He would make acircleof aciuarter of a mile in circumference. By making a loop in his course, he vv( uld come in behind the hounds, and puzzle them between the scent of his first and following tracks. Jf tl>.8 snow was deep, the houuds had made a good track for h'ln Over this he could run easily, and tliey would have to feel their way along, for after he had gone around the circle a f-'w times, he would jump from the beaten patli as far as he could, and make otf to other C((ver in a struiirht line. Befi)re this was done it wivs my plan to get near the circle, taking care to approach it on the windward side. If the fox got 190 BKAUTIFUL JOE. ! a sniff of human scent, he wnukl leave his circle very quickly, ar. 1 make tracks fkst to l)e out of danger. By the baying of the hounds, the circle in which the race was kept up, could be easily known. The la.st runs to get near enough to shoot, had to be done when the hounds' bayinjj came from the side of the circle nearest to me. For then tho fox would l)e on thd opposite side farthest away. As soon as I got near enough to see the hounds when they passod, 1 stopped When they got on the opposite side, I then kept a bright lookout for the fox. Sometimes when tho brush was thick, the sight of him would be indistinct. The shootinjj had to be (juick. As soon as the report of the gun was heard, the hounds ceased to bay, and made for the spot. If the fox was dead, they enjoyed the scent of his blood. If only wounded, they went after him with all speed. Sometimes lie was overtaken and killed, and sometimes he got into his burrow in the earth, or in a hollow log, or among thff rocks. " One day, I remember, when I was standing on tho outside of the circle, the fox came in sight. I fired. Ho gave a shrill bark, and came toward me. Then ho stopped in the snow and fell dead iu his tracks. I waa a pretty good shot in those days." "Poor little fox," said Miss Laura. " I wish you had let him get away." " Here's one tliat nearly got away," said Mr. Wood. "One winter's day, I was chasing him with the hounds. There was a crust on the snovv, and the fox was light, while the dogs were heavy. They ran along, the fox trotting iiiiubly on the top of tlie crust and the doga breaking through, and every few minutes that fox wouhl stop and sit down to look at the dogs. They were in a fury, and the wickedness of the fox in teasing them, THE RABBIT AND TUB HEX. 191 made me lau;,'h so much that I was very unwilling to ahoot hira." " You said your steel traps were cruel things, uncle," said Miss Laura. " Why didn't you have a deadfall for the foxes sis you had for the bears ? " "They were too cunning to go into deadfalls. There was a better way to catch them thougli. Foxes hate water, and never go into it unlesd they are obliged to, so we used to find a place where a tree had fallen across a river, and niiide a bridge for them to go back and forth on. Here we set snares, with spring poles that would throw them into the river wiien thoy iuule struggles to get free, and dnjwn them. Did you evor hear of the fox, Laura, that wanted to cross a river, and lay down on the bank pretending that he was dead, and a countryman came along, and thinking he had a prize, threw him in his boat and rowed across, when the fox got up and ran away ? " "Now, uncle," said Miss Laura, "you're laughing at me. That couldn't be true." "No, no," said Mr. Wood, chuckling, "but they're mighty cute at pretending they're dead. I once shot one in the morning, carried him a long wav on mv shoulders, and started to skin him in tlie afternoon, when lie turned around and bit me enough to draw blood. At another time, I dug one out of a hole in the ground. He feigned death. I took him up, r.nd threw him down at some dis- tance, and he jura{)ed up and ran into the woods." " What other animals did you catch when you were a boy?" asked Mr. Maxwell. "Oh, a number. Otters and beavers — we caught them iu deadfalls and in steel traps. The mink we usually took in deadfalls, smaller, of course, than the on»^s wo 192 BEAUTIFUL JOK. used for the bears. The musk-rat we caught in box trapa like a mouse trap. The wild-cat we ran down like the loitp cervier " " What kind of" an animal is that? " asked Mr. Max- well. "It Is a lynx, belonging to the cat species. They used to prowl about the couutry killing hens, geese, and some- times sheep. They'd fix their tushes in the sheep's neck and suck the blood. They did not tliink mucii of the sheep's flesli. We ran them down with dogs. They'd often run up tree.s, and we'd shoot them. Then there were rubbits that we caught, mostly iu snares. For musk-rats, we'd put a parsnij) or an apple on tlie spindle of a box trap. When we snared a rabbit, I always wanted to iind it caught around ttie neck and strangled to death. If thev got half through the snare and were caught around the body, or by the hind legs, they'd live for some time, and they'd cry just like a child. I like shooting them better, just because I hated to hear their pitiful cries. It's a bad business this of killing dumb creatures, and the older 1 get, the more chicken-hearted I am about it." "Chicken-hearted — I siiould think you are," said Mrs. Wood. " Do you know, I.aura, iio won't even kill a fowl for dinner. lie gives it lo one of the men to do." " ' Blessed are the merciful,' " said Miss Luuru, tlirow- ing her arm over her uncle's shoulder. "I l^ve you, dear Uncle John, because vou are so kind to every living thing." " I'm going to be kin.) to you now," said I'er uncle, " and send you to bed. Vou look tired." " Very well," she said, with a smile. Then bidding them all good-night, she went upstairs. Mr. Wood turned THE RABBIT AND THE HEX. 193 to Mr. Maxwell. "You're going to stay all uiglil with us, aren't you ? " " So Mrs. Wood says," replied the young man, with a smile. " Of course," she said. " I couldn't tliink of letting you go back tu the village such a night as this. It's rain- ing cats and dogs — but I mustn't say tliat, or there'll be no getting you to stay. I'll go and prepare your old room next to Harry's." And she bustled away. The two young men went to the pantry for doughnuts and milk, and Mr. Wood stood gazing down at me. "Good dog," he said, "you looked as if yoii sensed that talk to-night. Come, get a bone, and then away to bed." He gave me a very large mutton bone, and I held it in my mouth, and watched him opening the woodshed door. I love human beings ; and the saddest time of day for me is when I have to be separated from them while they sleep. " Now go to bed and rest well, Beautiful Joe," saul Mr. Wood, "and if you hear any stranger round the house, run out and bark. Don't be chasing wild animals in your sleep, though. They say a dog is the only animal that dreams. I wonder whether it's true?" Then he went into the house and shut the door. I had a sheepskin to lie on, and a very good bed it made. I slept soundly for a long time ; then I waked up and found that, instead of rain pattering against the roof, and darkness everywhere, it was quite liglit. The rain waa over, and the moon was shining beautifully. I ran to the door and looked out. It was almost as light as day. The moon made it very bright all arounre vius a white rabbit hopping up the road, fol- lowed by a white hen. It seemed to me a very strange thing for these creatures to be out this time of night, and why were they coming to Dingley Farm ? This wasn't their home. I ran down on the road and stood in front of them. Just as soon as the hen 8aw me, she fluttered in front of the rabi)it, and spreading out her wings clucked an- grily, aud acted as if she would peck my eyes out if I came nearer. I saw that they were harmless creatures, and remember- ing my adventure with the snake, I stepped aside. Besides that, I knew by their smell that they had been near Mr. Maxwell, so jierhaps they were after him. They understood quite well that I would not hurt them, and passed by me. The rabbit went ahead again, and the hen fell behind. It seemed to me that the hen was sleepy, and didn't like to be out so late at night, and was only following the rabbit because she tliought it was her duty. He was going along in a very queer fiisliion, putting his nose to the ground, and rising up on his liind legs, and sniffing the air, first on this side and then on the other, aud his nose going, going all the time. He smelled all around the house till he came to Mr. Maxwell's room at the back. It opened on the veranda by a glass door, aud the door stood ajar. The rabbit squeezed himself in, and the hen stayed out. She watched THE IIABBIT AND THE HEN. 195 for a while, and when he didn't come back, she flew up on the back of a chair that stood near the door, and put her head under her wing. I went back to my bed, for I knew they wouhl do no harm. Early in the morning, when I wa.s walking around the house, I heard a great shouting and luughing from Mr. Maxwell's room. He and Mr. Harry had jusfdis- coveredthe hen and the rabbit; and Mr. Harry wjis call- ing his motlicr to come and look at them. Tlie rabbit had slept on the foot of the bed. Mr. Harry was chafhng Mr. ^^a.xwell very much, and was telling him that any one who entertained hi; » was in for a traveling menagerie. They had a great deal of fun over it, and Mr. Maxwell said that he had had that pretty, white hen as a pet for a lontr time in Boiiton. Once when she had some little chickens, a frightened rab- bit, that was being chased by a dog, ran into the yard. In his terror he got right under the hen's wings, and she sheltered him, and pecked at the dog's eyes, and kept him off till help came. The rabbit belonged to a nei^'libor's boy, and Mr. Maxwell bought it from him. From the day the hen protected him, she became his friend, and followed him everywhere. I did not wonder that the rabbit wanted to see his mas- ter. There was something about that young man that made dumb animals just delight in him. When Mrs. Wood mentioned this to him he said, " I don't know why thev should — I dect (jf cab horses, for in London and Paris they last for five years. I have seen horses drop down dead in New York, just from hard 200 BEAUTIFUL JOE. h^,i tiHngc. Po<>r hrutofl, there u a better time cumiDg fur tiiem thnugh. Wlien electricity is more fully (levcioiMxl, we'll see »om(! wonderful chuDgc8. Ah it is, lutit year in (litli-rent placed, about thirty tliouisaml horded were releiuted i'miu thuac abomiiuihlu iKjnse earn, by having electricity introduced on the roads. Will, Fleetfoot, do you want another spin ? All ri;;ht, my l»(»y, go ahead." Away we went n^;ain along a l»it of level road. Fleet- foot bad no eheclv-rein on hit} beautifid neck, and when he trotted, he could hold his head in an easy, natural position. With his wonderful eyes and ilowing mane and tail, and his glossy, reddish-brown body, I thought that he was the handsomest ' /rse I had ever seen. He loved to go fast, and when Mr. Harry spoke to him to glow up again, he tossed his head with impatience. But he was too 8weet-temjR>red to disobey. In all the years that I have known Fleetfoot, I have never once seen him refuse to do as his master told him. " You have forgotten your whip, haven't you Harry?" I heard Miss Laura say, as we jogged slowly along, and I ran by the buggy panting and with ray tongue hanging out. " I never use one," said Mr. Harry ; " if I saw any man lay one on Fleetfoot, I'd knock him down." His voice was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy. He looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on the ground, and gave him a beating. " I am so glad you don't," said Mi«s Laura. " You arc like the Russians. Many of them control their horses by their voices, and call them such pretty names. But you have to use a whip for some horses, don't vuu, Cousin Harry?" " Yes, Laura. There are many vicious horses that A HAPPY IIOIl.SE. 201 that can't be controlled othtTwine, and thon with many hornea one re<|iiire« a whip in ciwe of noconsity for urging thcni forward." " I HuppoHC Flwtfoot never balks," said Mi."»s Laura. " No," replied Mr. Hurry ; *' Diitclimun sometimes does, and we have two ciire!« tor him, both equally good. We take up a forefoot and strike hid shoe two or three times with a fitone. The operation alway.<» interest.s him greatly, and he usually .start*. If lie doesn't go for that, we piu« a line round Win forelegs, at the knee joint, then go in front of him and draw on the line. Father won't let the men use a whip, unless they are driven to it." " Fleetfoot has had a happy life, hasn't he?" said Miss Laura, looking admiringly at him. " How did he get to like you so nuieh, Harry?" "1 broke him in after a riu«hion of my own. Father gave him to me, and the fin-t time I saw him on his feet, 1 went up earcfully and put my hand on him. His mother was rather shy of me, for we hatln't had her long,and itmade him shy too, so I soon left him. The next time I stroked him ; the next time I put my arm around him. Soon he acted like a big dog. I could lead him about by a strap, and I made a little halter and a bridle for him. I ( n robbed and half frightened to deatli, a few days before. He wa.s a miserable old creature, known as Miser JcrruliI, and he lived alone with his daug!>ter. He had savetancc than that. Father said that when he got done, Jacobs liad sunk down all in a heap on the stable floor, with his hands over his lace. Father left him to have it out with himself, and went to the house. " The next morning, Jacobs looked just the same as usual, and went about with the other men doing his work, but saying nothing about going West. Late in the after- noon, a fa,rnier going by hailed father, and asked if he'd heard the news. Old Miser Jerrold's box had been left on his door-step some time through the night, ami he'd found it in the morning. The money was all there, but the old fellow was so cute that he wouldn't tell any one how much it was. The neighbors had persuaded him to bank it, and he was coming to town the next morning with it, and tliat night some of them were going to help him mount guard over it. Father told the men at milking time, and he said Jacobs looked as unconscious as possi- ble. However, from tiiat day there was a change iu him. He never told father in so many words that he'd resolved to be an honest man, but his actions spoke for him. He had been a kind of sullen, unwilling fellow, but now he turned handy and obliging, and it was a real trial to father to part with liiui." Miss Laura was intensely interested in this story. " Where is he now, Cousin Harry ? " she asked, eagerly. "What became of him?" Mr. Harry laughed in such annisement that I stared up at him, a:id even Fleetwood turned his head around to see THE BOX OF MONEY. 209 what the joke was. We were ;?oin'^ very slowly up H long, steep liill, and iii the clear, t^till air, we could iieai every word spoken in tlie Imjiiry. "The last part of tiit- story is the hest, to my mind," said Mr Harry, "an nie. " You won't find anything but rats in that ramshackle old place, Beautiful Joe," she said, as she pulled the plank away ; " and as you don't hurt them, I don't see what you want to get in for. However, you are a sensi- 214 A NF,(iLEtTKI) STABI-E. 216 bio dii^', and usually liavc a rfiiM)U for having your own way, 8o i am g(jiug to lot you have it." The plank t'wll down lus hIio spoke, and slif pulled oj>en the roui,'h d mr a:id looked in. Tlicie \v:w no window inside, otdy tin' li.'lit that stnanied throu;^l» the door, >t eat much at one time. Miss Laura got a stick and scratched poor piggy's back a little, and then she went back to the house. In a short time we went home with Mr. Wood. Mr. Harry was go- ing to stay all night with the sick animals, and his mother would send him tilings to make him comfortable. She Avas better by the time we got home, and was horrified to hear tiie tale of Mr. Barron's neglect. Later in the even- ing, she sent one of the men over with a whole box full of V things for her darling boy, and a nice, hot tea, done up for him in a covered dish. When the man came home, he said ti at Mr. Harry would not sleep in the Englishman's dirty house, but had slung a hammock out under the trees. However, he would not be able to sleep nuich, for he had his lantern by his side, all ready to jump ;ip and attend to the horse and cow. It was a very loti'>ly place for him out there in the woods, and ids mother said that she would be glad when the sick animals could be driven to their own farm. ■^^••# ^i^^^r^f ?^-^ CHAPTER XXVIII. THE END OF THE ENOLISIIMAN. N .1 few days, thanks to Mr. irurrv's constant care, the horse anci cow were able to walk. It was a inouriifiil procession that canio into the yard at Dingley Farm. The hollow-eyed honse, and lean cow, smd funny, little, thin pig, staggering along in such a shaky fashion. Their hoofs were diseased, and had partly rotted away, so that they could not walk straight. Though it w;i3 only a mile or two from Pen- hollow to Dingley Farm, they were tired out, and dropped down exhausted on their comfortable beds. Miss Laura was so delighted to tliink that they had all lived, that she did not know what to do. Her eyes were bright and shining, and she went from one to another with such a happy face. The queer little pig that Mr. Harry had christened '' Daddy Lonsxlegs," hail been washed, ami he lay on his lieap of straw in the corner of his neat little pen, and surveyed his clean trough and abundance of food with tho air of a prince. Why, he would be clean and dry here, and all his life he had been u.5ed to dirty, damp Peuhollow, with tho trees hanging over hira, and his little feet in a mass of iilth and dead leaves. Happy little pig! His ugly eyes seemed to blink ami srleam with gratitude, and he knew Miss Lauru and Mr. Harry as well OS I did. 228 224 BEAUTIFUL JOE. •r His tiny tail was curled so tight that it was almost in a knot. Mr. Wooil stiid that wiususi;,Mi that he was healthy and happy, and that wlien poor Daddy wiis at PenhoUow, he had noticed that Ids tail liuni^ o-s limp and loose o^ the tailofurui. He came and leaned over the pen with Miss Laura, and had a little talk witli her about pigs, lie said they were by no means the stupid anin)als that some people considered thorn. He had had pigs tliat were as clever as dogs. One little blaeiv pig that he had once sold to a man awav back in the country, had found his way home, through the woods, across tl-e river, up hill and down dale, and he'd been taken to the place with a bag over his head. Mr. Wood said that he kept that pig, because he knew so much. He said that the most knowing pigs he ever saw, were Canadian pigs. One tirne he was liaving a trip on a sailing vessel, and it anchored in a long, narrow harbor in Canada, where the tide carue in witli a front four or five feet high called the " bore." Tiiere was a village oyh posite the place where the shij) was anchored, and every day at low tide, a number of pigs came down to look for shell-fish. Sometimes tiiey went out for half a mile over the mud flats, but always a few minutes before the tide came rushing in, tfiey turned and hurried to the shore. Their instinct warned tlxem, that if they stayed any longer they would be drowned. Mr. Wood had a number of pigs, and after a while Daddy wa.s put in with them, and a fine time he had making friends with the other little grunters. They were often let out in the pasture or orchard, and when they were there, I could always single out Daddy from among them, because he wf_. the smartest. Though he had been brought up in such a miserable way, he soon learned to 1 THE END OF THE ENQLISUMAN. 226 Their they take very good care of bim-sclf at Diu;.,li'y Farm, aud it wiw ainusiii^ to see liiiu when a storm wiu coming on, running ui)out in a .state ot' great excitement, carrying lit- ' Ic bundles of straw in his mouth to make himself a ' ' lie was a white pig, and was always kept very cleai" ^r. Wood said that it is wrong to keep pigs dirty. They like to be clean as well as other animals, and if they were kept 80, human beings would not get so many disea-sea from eating their lk«ii. The cow, poor unhappy creature, never as long as she lived on Diugley Farm, lost a strange, melancholy look from her eyes. 1 have heard it said that animals forget past unhappiness, and perhaps some of them do. I know that I have never forgotten ray one miserable year with Jenkins, and I have been a sober, thoughtful dog in con- sequence of it, and not playful like some dogs who have never known what it is to be really unhappy. It always seemed to me that the Englishman's cow was thinking of her poor dead calf, starved to death by her cruel nuister. She got well herself, and came and went with the other cows, seemingly a.s happy as they, but often when I watched her standing chewing her cud, and look- ing away in the distance, I could see a ditlerence between her face aud the faces of the cows that had always been happy on Dingley Farm. Even tlie farm hands called her " Old "lelancholy,'' anel of kindness to God's lower creation. A etranger picking one of them up. and seeing the name o*" the wicked Englishman printed on the title page, would think that he was a friend and benefactor to the Riverdale people — the very opposite of what he gloried ia being. CHAPTER XXIX. A TALK ABOUT SIIKICP ISS LAiniA was vtiv much iriteiiHtcd in tlio sheep oil Dingley Ftiriu. There waa a Ihick in the orchard near the house that phe often went to eee. She always carried roots and veg(!tahh;8 to th(aii, turnips particiihirly, for thi-y were very fond of them ; \m* they wonhl not come to her to get them, for they did noi knov/ her voii.'f. They only lifted their heads and ntared at her when she called thetn. Jiiit when tlu-y heard Mr. Wood's voice, they ran to the fence hleatini,' with plea- sure, and trying to push their noses thmiigli to get tim carrot or turnip, or whatever he w:ia handing to tlieni. He called them his iittie Southdowns, and hi^ said liu loved his sheep, for they were the most gentle and inotien- sive creatures tluit he Ind on l»is farm. One day wiien he came into the kit'Jien inquiring for salt, Miss Laura said, " Is it for the sheep? " " Yes." he replied ; " I am going up to the woods piij*turo to examine my Sliropshires." "You would like to go too, Laura," said Mrs. Wood. "Take vour hands right awav from that cake. I'll lliiihli frosting it for you. Run along and get your hroml- brimmed hat. It's very hot." Miss Laura danced out into the hall and hack again, and soon we were walking up, hack of tlie house, along a path that led us through the tields to the pa.'^ture, " \V li,ii 'm 232 BEAUTIFUL JOI i are you going to do, uncle ?" she said; "and whot r.ro those funny things in your hands ? " "Toe-clippers," he replied; "and I am going to ex* an>ine the sheeps' hoofd. You know we've had warm, racist weather all through July, and I'm afraid of fuot rot. Then they're sometimes troubled with ovisr-grown hoofs." "What do you do if they get foot rot?" aakojl Mi.* Laura. " live various cures," he said. "Paring and clipping, and dipping the hoof in blue vitriol and vin(!gar, or rub- bing it on, as the English shepherds do. It dextroyg the diseased part, but doesn't affect the sound.'' " Do sheep have many diseases ? " askcMl Miss Laura. " I know one of them myself — that is the scab." "A nasty thing that," said Mr. Wood, vigorouHly; " and a man that builds up a ilock from a stockyard often finds it out to his cost." " What is it like ? " asked IMiss Laura. "The sheep get scabby from a microbe under the nkiii which causes them to itch fearfully, and they loso their wool." " And can't it be cured ?" "Oh, yes! with time and attention. There ore dif- ferent remedies. I believe petroleum is the best." By this time we had got to a wide gate that ojHiruul into the pasture. As Mr. Wood let Miss Laura go through and then closed it behind her, he said, " You arc looking at that gate. You want to know why it is so long, (lou't you?" " Yes, uncle," she said ; " but I can't bear to unk m many questions." " Aak as many as you like," he said, good-nnturla't rouvd him, and put him near the Btt)ve, and the next evening ho was ready to go back to his mother. I petted him all through April, and gave him extras — dill'erent kinds of meal, till 1 found what suited him best; now he does me credit." " Dear little lamb," said Miss Laura, patting him. " How can you tell him from the others, uncle?" " I know all their faces, Laura. A flock of sheep is just like a crowd of people. They all have different ex- pressions, and have different dispositions." A TAI-K ABOUT SHEEP. 239 him. "They all look alike to me," said Miss Laura. " I dure say. You are not accustomed to them. Do you know how to tell a sheep's age ? " " No, uncle." " Here, open your mouth, G)sset," he said to the lamb that he still held. " At one year they have two teeth in the centre of the jaw. They got two teeth more every year up to five years. Then we say they have 'a full mouth.' After that you can't tell their age exactly by the teeth. Now run back to your mother," and he let the lamb go. " Do they always know their own mothers ? " aaked Misa Laura. " Usually. Sometimes a ewe will not own her lamb. In that ca.sc we tie them up in a separate stall till she recognizes it. Do you see that sheep over there by the bluel)crry bushes — the one with the very pointed eaii? " " Yes uncle," said Miss Laura. " That lamb by her side is not her own. Hers died and we took its fleece and wrapped it around a t^ in lamb that we took from another esve, and gave to her. She soou adopted it. Now come this way, and I'll show you our movable feeding troughs." lie got up from the h<, and wheat, or bran, or whatever we are going to give them. If they are going to the butcher, they get corn meal and oil meal. Whatever it is, they eat it up clean. 1 don't believe in crammiu'' animals. I feed them ad ".t '-' 240 BEAUTI'^UL JOE. II . t ltt> much as is good for thcni and not any more. Now you go down over iliero hohind those bushes wita Joe, and I'll atttjnd to lr,i!iincss." Mi.Hs Laura found a shady place and I curled myself up beside her. We sat there u long time, but we did not get tired, fu' it was amusing to watch the sheep and lambs. After a while, Mr. Wood came and sat down beside us. He talked some more about fchcep-raising; then he said, " You may stay here longer if you like, but I nuist get down to the house. The work must be done if tiie weather is liot." " What an; you going to do now? " asked Miss Laura, jumping up. "Oh! more sheep business. I've set out some young trees in the orchard, and unless I get chicken wire around them, my sheep will be barking them for mo." "I've seen them," said Miss Laura, "standing up on their hind legs and nibbling at the trees, taking off every shoot they can rfach." " They don't hurt the old trees," said Mr. Wood ; " but the young ones have to be protected. It pay. le to take care of my iVuit trees, for I get a splendid crop from them, thanks to the sheep." " Good-bye, little lambs and dear old sheep," said Misa Laura, aa her uncle opened the gate for her to leave the pa.sture. " I'll come and see you again som'tlme. Now you had better get down to the brook iv the dingle and have a drink. You look hot in your warm coats." "You've ma.-.tered one detail of sheep-keeping," said Mr. Wood, as he slowly walked along beside his niece. "To raise healthy sheep one must have pure water where they can get to it whenever they like. Give them g od v;atei', good food, and a variety of it, good quarters — cool A TALK AliOUT SIIEKP 2)1 Now you ta J(ic, and led myself •wc did not sheep and 1 sat down .■ej)-raisini? ; )ii like, but list be done Miss Laura, iome young wire around ding up on ng ofr every rood; "but le to take from them, " said Miss 0 leave the inie. Now dingle and oats." eping," said e his niece, water where them g od arters — cool in summer, comfortable in winter, and keep them quiot, and you'll make them iuippy and make money ou ilu m." "I think I'd like »heep-rai«iug," said Mi.-w Laura; "won't you have me for your llock-niistni's', uiiele?" He laughed, and said he thought not, for she would cry every time any .^f her charge were sent to the butcher. After this Miss I^aura and I often went up to the pas- ture to see the sheep and the lainits. We used to get into a shady pla-^'X) where they could not see us, and watch them. One day I got a gr«!at surprise about the sheep. I had heard so much about their meekness that I never dreamed that they would fight ; but it turned out that they did, and they went about it in such a business-like way, that I could not help smiling at them. I suppose that like most other animals they had a spice of wicked- ness in them. On this day a (juarrel arose between two sheep ; but instead of running at each other like two dogs they went a long distance apart, and then came rushing at each other with lowered heads. Their object seemed to be to break each other's skull ; but Miss Laura soon stopped them by calling out and frightening them apart. I thought that the lambs were more interesting than the sheep. Sometimes they fed quietly by their mothers* sides, and at other times they all huddled together on the top of some flat rock or in a bare place, and seemed to be talking to each other with their heads close together. Suddenly one would jump down, and start for the bushes or the other side of the pasture. They would all follow pell-mell ; then in a few minutes they would come rush- ing back again. It was pretty to see them playing together and having a good time before the sorrowful day of their death came. ' I 1*1 CHAPTER XXX. A JKALOLI3 OX. R. WOOD had n dozen culvos that he waa rais- iuj,', and Misa Laura soiuetinicd went up to the stable to see thoin. Kach calf wius in a eril), and it WJis fed with milk. They hud tjontle, patient faces, and beautiful eyes, and looked very meek, as tliey stood quietly gazing about them, or sucking away at their milk. They reminded me of big, gentle dogs. I never got a very good look at them in their cribs, but one day when they were old enough to be let out, I went up with Miss Laura to the yard where tliey were kept. Such queer, ungainly, large-boned creatures they were, and such a good time they were having, running and jumping and throwing up their heels. Mrs. Wood waa with us, and sne said tliat it was not good for calves to be closely penned after tliey got to be a few weeks old. They were better for getting out and having a frol'c. She stood beside Mii-s Laura for a long time, watching the calves, and laughing a great deal at their awkward irambols. Thev wanted to plav, but thev did not seem to know how to u.se their limbs. They were lean calves, and Miss Laura asked her aunt why all the nice nulk'they had taken, had not made them f\\t. "The fat will come all in good time," said Mrs. Wood. " A fat calf makes a poor cow, and a fat, small 24? e was raw- it up to the acril), and t I'aceg, ami ;oi)il quietly iijlk. They ;lieir cribs, e let out, I they were iturcs they lij, ninning it was not got to be i'n horns, and a good coat of hair. Can you imagine," she went on indignantly, " thu! any one could be cruel enough to torture such a harmless creature as a calf? " " No, indeed," replied Miss Laura. " Who has been doing it ? " " Who has been doing it ? " repeated Mrs. Wood, bit- terly ; " they are doing it all the time. Do you know what makes the nice, white veal one gets in big cities? The calves are bled to death. They linger for hours, and moan their lives away. The first time I heard it, I was 80 angry that I cried for a day, and made John promise that he'd never send another animal of his to a big city to be killed. That's why all of our stock goes to Hoyt- ville, and small country places. Oh, those big cities are awful places, Laura. It seems to me that it makes peo- ple wicked to huddle thera together, I'd rather live in a desert than a city. There's Ch o. Every night since I've been there I pray to the Lord either to chanire the hearts of some of the wicked {)eople in it, or to destroy thera oft' the face of the earth. You know three years ago I got run down, and your uncle saiil I'd got to have a change, so he sent me off* to my brother's in Ch o. I stayed and enjoyed myself pretty well, for it is a wonder- ful city, till one day some Westei n men came in, who had been visiting the slaughter-houses outside the city. I sat and listened to their talk, and it seemed to me that I was hearing the description of a great battle. These men were cattle dealers, and had been sending stock to Ch 0, and they were furious that men in their rage for 244 BEAUTIFUL JOE. wealth, would so utterly ignore and trample on all decent and huiuane feelings, as to torture uuiinala as the Ch- — o men were doing. " It is too dreadful to repeat the siglits they saw. I lis- tened till they were describing Te.xan steers kicking in agony under the torture that wsvs practised, and then I gave a loud scream, and fainted dead away. They had to send for your uncle, and l,e brought me home, and for days and days I heard nothing but shouting ar ' swearing, and saw animals dripping with blood, and crying and moaning in their anguish, and now Laura, if you'd lay down a bit of Ch o meat, and cover it with gold, I'd spurn it from me. But w' ,v' am I saying? you're as white as a sheet. Come see tl '♦"■ stab'' John's just had it whitewashed." Miss Laura took her aunt's arm, and I walked slowly behind them. The cow stable was a long building, well- built, and with no chinks in the walls, as Jenkins's stable had. There were large windows where the afternoon sun canie streaming in, and a number of ventilators, and a great many stalls. A pipe of water ran through the stalls from one end of the stable to the other. The floor was covered with saw dust and leaves, and the ceiling and tops of the walls were whitewashed. Mrs. Wood said that her husband would not have the waiib a gkre of white right down to the floor, because he thought it in- jured the animals' eyes. So the lower parts of the walls were siained a dark, brown color. There were doors at each end of the stable, and just now they stood open, and a gentle breeze was blowing through, but Mrs. Wood said that when the cattle stood in the stalls, both doors were never allowed to be open at the same time. Mr. Wood was most particular to have A JEALOUS OX. 2ir> Ilis- no drafls blowiug upon hia cuttle. He would not have them ciiilled, and lie would not have them ovcrlii'Utt'd. One tiling was as bud in the other. And during thu winter, they were never allowed to drink icy wuteen brought up. I knew he w;is oidy jokine. yet I got quite excited. 'Yes,' I said, ' Do as my father and mother did. Have a farm about twice as large as y()U can manage. Don't keep a hired man. Get up at daylight and slave till dark. Never take a holiday. Have the girls do the housework, and take care of the hens, and help pick the fruit, and make the boys tend the colta and the calves, and put all the money they make in the bank. Don't take any papers, for they would waste their time reading them, and it's too far to go to the post office oftencr than once a week ; and ' — but, I don't remember the rest of what I said. Anyway your uncle burst into a roar of laughter. * Hattie,' he said, ' my farm's too big. I'm going to sell some of it and enjoy myself a little more.* That very week he sold fifty acres, and he hired an extra man, and got me a good girl, and twice a week he left his work in the afternoon, and took me for a drive. Harry held the reins in his tiny fingers, and John told him that Dolly, the old mare we wore driving, should be called his, and the very next horse he bought should be called his too, and he should name it and have it for his own ; and he would give him five sheep, and he should have his own bank book, and keep his accounts ; and Harry understood, mere baby though he waa, and from that day 1 i IV 256 nEAUTIFUI. JOE. I ho loved Jfthn tm \m own father. If ray father had had tlio windoin that Joliu has, hifl hoys wouldn't be tlio one a poor lawyer and the other a poor doctor in two different cities; and our farm wouldn't he in the hands of dtruu- gers. It makes me sick to go there. I think of my poor mother lying with her tired hands crossed out in the churchyard, and the boys so far away, and my father always hurrying and driving us — I can tell you, Laura, the thing cuts both ways. It isn't all the fault of tho boys that they leave the country." Mrs. Wood waa silent for a little while after she made this long speech, and Miss Laura said nothing. I took a turn or two up and down the stable, thinking of many things. No matter how happy human beings seem to be, they always have something to worry them. I was sorry for Mn. Wood, for her face had lost tho happy look it usually wore. However, she soon forgot her trouble, and said : "Now I must go and get the tea. This is Adftle'a afternoon out." " I'll come too," said Miss Laura, " for I promised her I'd make the biscuits for tea this evening and let you rest." They both sauntered slowly down the plank walk to the house and I followed them. CHAPTER XXXII. OUK IIKTIKN IKJMK. |N October, the most heautifiil of all the months, we were ohli^'od to go buck to Fairi)ort. Miaa Laura could not bear to leave the farm, and her face got very sorrowful wlien any one spoke of her going away. Still, she had gotten well and strong, and was as brown as a berry, and she said that she knew she ought to go home, and get back to her lessons. Mr. Wood called October the golden month. Every- thing was quiet and still, and at night nnd in the morn- ings the sun had a yellow, misty look. The trees in the orchard were loaded with fruit, and some of the leaves were floating down, making a sofl covering on the ground. In the gardeii there were a great many flowers in bloom, in flaming red and yellow colors. Miss Laura gathered bunches of them every day to put in the parlor. One day when she wad arranging them, she said, regret- fully, " They will soon be gone. I wish it could always be summer." " You would get tired of it," said Mr. Harry, who had come up softly beaind her. " There's only on*- place where we could stand perpetual summer, and ^at's in heaven." 267 i I i 258 BF.AUTIFUL JOE. " Do you suppose that it will always be summer there ? " said Miss ijauru, turniiiL; aruii.id, umi looking at liiiu. "I don't know. 1 nuagiuc it will he, but 1 don't Jhiuk anybody knows mucli about it. We've got to wait." Misa Laura's eyes fell on uie. " Harry," she said, " do you think that dumb animals will go to heaven?" " I shall have to say again, I don't know," he replied. "Some people hold that they do. In a Michigan paper, the other day, I came across one writer's opinion on the subject. He says that among the best people of all ages have been some who believed in the future life of animals. Homer and the later Greeks, some of tlie Romans and early Christians held thi- view — the L-wt believing that God Bent angels in the shape of birds to comfort sufferers for the faith. St. Francis called the birds and beasts his brothers. Dr. Johnson believed ri a future life for animals, as also did Wordsworth, Shelley, Coleridge, Jeremy Taylor, Agassiz, Lamartine, and many Christian scholars. It seems as if they ought to have some compensation for their terrible sufibrings in this world. Then to go to heaven, unimals ^ould only have to take up the thread of their lives here. Man is a god to the lower creation. Joe worships you, much as you worship your Maker. Dumb animals live in and for their masters. Tliev hang on our words and looks, and are dependent on us in almost everv way. For my own part, and looking at it from an eaithly po'nt of view, I wish with all my heart that we may find our dumb friends hi paradise." '* And in the Bible," said Mis.s Laura, " animals are oflen si)oken of. Tlie dove and tlie raven, the wolf and the Iamb, and the leopard, and the cattle that God says are his, and the little sparrow that can't fall to the ground without our Father's knowing it." f- OUR RETURN HOME. 259 there?" , liini, ait." laid, " do 3 replied, in paper, D ou the fall ages ' animals, [uaiis and that God era for the I brothers. 18 also did L Agassiz, enis as if terrible iinimala ives here, hips you, als live in .)rds and way. For hly po'nt find our liinals are wolf and God says :e ground " Still, thefo's nothing definite about their itiunortiil- ity," said Mr. Harry. " However, we've p)t noiiiiu),' to do with that. If it's right for them to be in heaven, wijII find them there. All we have to do now irt to di'jil with the present, and the Bible plainly telU iis that 'a riglit* eous man regardeth the life of his l)i.'ast.' " "I think I would l)e happier in lu!aveii if iy and hmuglit liint a chair, aiid drai;ged a tal)le u|) to it. 'i'liey hrouglit liiui letters and paper.-», and rang hells, ami rolled barrel.';, ami swung Uie Italian in a big swinu', and juinpt-d a rope, and walked up and dnwn .-teps — tiiov jn.-^l went around tliat stage as hand\ with their teeth as two boys would be with their hands, and they seeined to understand every word their master said to them. "The best inck of all was tellin.: the time and tloiiij^ questions in arithmetic. Tlie Italian pulled hi.s watch out of his pocket and showed it to tiic hn?t pony, whose name was Diamond, and .*aid 'What time is it?' The pony looked at it, tiieii scratched four times with his foiL"- foot on the platform. The Italian said, ' '''iiat's good — four o'clock, liut it's a few minutes after four — how many?' The puny scratched again five times. The Italian showed his watch to the audience, and said that it wa.s jui't live minutes past four. Then he asked the pony how old he wius. lie scratched four times. That meant four years. He asked him how many days in a week there were, how many montlis in a year, and he gave him some questions in addition and subtraction, and the pony answered them all correctly. Of course the Italian was giving him some sign, but thnugli we watched him closely we couldn't make ojt what it was. At last, he tolil the pony that he had been very good, and had done his les- sons well ; if it would rest him, he might be naughty a little while. All of a sudden a wicked look came into the creature's eyes. He turned around, and kicked up his heels at his master, he pushed over the tal)le and chairs, and knocked down a blackboard where he bad IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■^ Bi2 12.2 y£ lU 140 1.4 12.0 m III 1.6 ^ / V HiotDgraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRIET WEBSTH.N.Y. MSM (716)I73-4S03 270 BEAUTIFUL JOE. been rubbing out figures with a sponge held in his mouth. The Italian pretended to be cross, and said, ' Come, come, this won't do,' and he called the other pony to him, and told him to take that troublesome fellow off the stage. The second one nosed Diamond, and pushed him about, finally bit him by the ear, and led him squealing off the stage. The gander followed, gabbling as fast as he could, and there was a regular roar of applause. " After that, there were ladders brought in, Joe, and dogs came on, not thoroughbreds, but curs something like you. The Italian says he can't teach tricks to pedigree animals ^ well as to scrubs. Tliose dogs jumped the ladders, and climbed them, and went through them, and did all kinds of things. The man cracked his whip once, and they began ; twice, and they did backward what they lad done forward ; three times, and they stopped, and every animal, dogs, goats, ponies, and nioakeys, after they had finished their tricks, ran up to their master, and he gave t'nera a lump of sugar. They seemed fond of him, and often when they weren't performing, went up to him, and licked his hands or his sleeve. There was one boss dog, Joe, with a head like yours. Bob, they called him, and he did all his tricks alone. The Italian went off the stage, and the dog came on and made his bow, and climbed his ladders, and jumped his hurdles, and went off ngain. The audience howled for an encore, and didn't . he come out alone, make another bow, and retire. I saw old Judge Brown wiping the tears from his eyes, he'd laughed so much. One of the last tricks was with a goat, and the Italian said it was the best of all, because the goat is such a hard animal to teach. He had a big ball, and the goJtt got on it and rolled it across the stage with- out getting off. He looked as norvous aa a cat, shaking his PERFOIUflXO ANIMALS. 271 mouth. ' Come, to him, off the led him |uealing \ fiist as se. [oe, and aing like pedigree iped the lera, and hip once, rhat they ped, and ifter they , and he 1 of him, p to him, one boss lied him, it off the )ow, and wont off id didn't I saw jyes, he'd th a goat, jaiise the big ball, age with- aking his old beard, and trying to keep his four hoo& clo6e enough together to keep him on the ball. *' We had a funny little play at the end of the perform- ance. A monkey dressed as a lady, in a white satin suit and a bonnet with a whit^ veil, came on the stage. She was Miss Green and the dog Bub was going to elope with her. He was all rigged out aa Mr. Smith, and had on a light suit of clothes, and a tall hat on the side of his head, high collar, long cuffs, and he carried a cane. He ;,as a regular dude. He step{)ed up to Miss Green on his hind legs, and helped her on to a pony's back. Tibfi pony galloped off the stage ; then a crowd of monkeys, ctiuttor- ing and wringing their hands, came on. Mr. Smit'i had run away with their child. They were all dressed up too. There were the father and mother, with gray wigs and black clothes, and the young Greens in bibs and tuckers. They were a queer-looking crowd. While they were go- ing on in this way, the pony trotted back on the stage ; and they all flew at him and pulled off their daughter from his back, and laughed and chattered, and boxed her ears, and took off her white veil and her satin dress, and put on an old brown thing, and some of them seized the dog, and kicked his hat, and broke his cane, and stripped his clothes off, and threw them in a corner, and bound his legs with cords. A goat came on, harnessed to a little cart, and they threw the dog in it, and wheeled him around the stage a few times. Then they took him out and tied him to a hook in the wall, and the goat ran off the stage, and the monkeys ran to one side, and one of them pulled out a little revolver, pointed it at the dog, fired, and ho dropped down as if he was dead. "The monkeys stood looking at him, and then there was the most awful hullabaloo you ever beard. Such 272 BEAUTIFUL JOE. a barking and yelping, and half a dozen dogs rushed on tha stage, and didn't they trundle those mon- keys about. They nosed thera, and pushed them, and shook thera, till they all ran away, all but Miss Green who sat shivering in a corner. Afler a while, she crept up to the dead dog, pawed him a little, and didn't he jump up as much alive as any of thera ? Everybody in the room clapped and shouted, and then the curtain dropped, a.jd the thing was over. I wish he'd give another performance. Early in the morning he has to go to Boston." Jack pushed my paws from his knees and went outdoors, and I began to think that I would very much like to see those performing animals. It was not yet tea time, and I would have plenty of time to take a run down to the hotel where thev were staving ; so I set out. It was a lovely autumn evening. The sun was go- ing down in a haze, and it was quite warm. Earlier in the day I had heard Mr. Morris say that this was our Indian summer, and that we should soon have cold weather, Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the princi- pal street one could look out upon the blue water of the bay and see the island opposite which was quite deserted now, for all the summer visitors had gone home, and the Island House wa.s shut up. I was running down one of the steep side streets that led to the water when I met a heavily laden cart coming up. It must have been coming from one of the vessels, for it was full of strange-looking boxes and packages. A fine-looking nervous horse was drawing it, and he was straining every nerve to get it up the steep hill. His driver was a burly, hard-faced man, and instead of letting PERFORMING ANIMALS. 273 I dogB se mon- m, and Green e crept dn't he body in curtain s'd give s has to id went Id very was not ,o take a so I set I was go- arlier in was our ,ve cold princi- !r of the deserted and the sets that coming vessels, ges. A he was 11. Hib f letting his horse stop a minute to rest he kept urging him for- ward. The poor horse kept looking at his master, his eyes almost starting from his head ia terror. He knew that the whip was alK)ut to descend on his quivering body. And so it did, and there was no one by to interfere. No one but a woman in ?> ragged shawl who would have no influence with the driver. There was a very good hu- mane society in Fairport, and none of the teamsters dared ill use their horses if any of the members were near. This was u quiet out-of-the-way street, with only poor houses on it, and the man probably knew that none of the members of the society would be likely to l)e living in them. He whipped his horse, and whipped him, till every lash made my heart ache, and if I had dared I would have bitten him severely. Suddenly there was a dull thud in the street The horse had fallen down. The driver ran to his head, but he was quite dead. " Thank God ! " said the poorly dressed woman, bitterly ; " one more out of this world of misery." Then she turned and went down the street. I was glad for the horse. He would never be frightened or miserable again, and I went slowly on, thinking that death is the best thing that can happen to tortured animals. The Fairport Hotel was built right in the centre of the town, and the shops and houses crowded quite close about it. It was a high, brick building, and it wa? called the Fairport House. As I was running along the sidewalk I heard some one speak to me, and looking up I saw Charlie Montague. I had heard the Morrises say that his parents were staying at the hotel for a few weeks, while their house was being repaired. He had his Irish setter Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog he was, as he stood waving his silky tail in the sunlight Charlie patted a 274 BEAUTIFUL JOE. m- me, and then he and his dog went into the hotel. I turned into the stable yard. It was a small, choked-up place, and as I picked my way under the cubs and wuguna standing in the yard, I wondered why the hotel people didn't buy some of the old houses near by, and tear them down, and make a stable yard worthy of buch a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just getting rubbed down after their day's work, and others were coming in. The men were talking and laughing, and there was no sign of strange animals, so I went around to the back of the yard. Here they were, in an empty cow stable, under a hay loft. Tiiere were two little ponies tied up in a stall, two goats beyond them, and dogs and monkeys in strong traveling cages. I stood in the doorway and stared at them. I was sorry for the dogs to be sliut up on such a lovely evening, but I suppose their master was afraid of their getting lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose. They all seemed very friendly. The ponies turned around and looked at me with their gentle eyes, and then went on munching their hay. I wondered very much where the gander was, and went a little farther into the stable. Something white raised itself up out of the brownest pony's crib, and tliere was the gander close up beside the open mouth of his friend. The monueys made a jabber- ing noise, and held on to the brffe of their cage with their little black hands, while they looked out at me. Tlie dogs sniffed the air. and wagged their tails, and tried to put their muzzles through the bars of their cage. I liked the dogs best, and I wanted to see the one they called Bob, Eo I went up quite close to them. There were two little white do^s, something like Billy, two mongrel span- iels, an Irish terrier, and a brown dog asleep in the corner, that I knew must be Bob. lie did look a little PERFORMINO ANIMAU3. 276 like mc, but he was uot quite so ugly, for he had his c;ira aud hid tail. While I was pceriug through the bars at him, a man cauie in the stable. He noticed me the first thing, but instead of driving me out. he spoke kindly to me, in a laa- guuge that I did not understand. So I knew that he was the Italian. How glad the animals were to see him ! The gander fluttered out of his nest, the ponies pulled at their halters, the dogs whined and tried to reach his hands to lick them, and tiie monkeys chattered with delight. He laughed, and talked back to them in queer, sofl-sounding words. Then he took out of a bag on his arm, bones for the dogs, nuts and cakes for the monkeys, nice, juicy car- rots for the ponies, some green stuff for the goats, and corn for the gander. It was a pretty sight to see the old man feeding hia pets, and it made me feel quite hungry, so I trc tted home. I had a run down town again that evening with Mr. Morris, who went to get something from a shop for his wife. He never let his boys go to town after tea, so if there were errands to be done, he or Mrs. Morris went The town was bright aud lively that evening, and a great many people were walking about and looking into the shop windows. When we came home, 1 went into the kennel with Jim, and there I slept till the middle of the night. Then I started up and ran outside. There was a distant bell ringing, which we often heard in Fairport, and which always meant fire. CHAPTER XXXIV. „--^y 1 A FIRE IN FAIKPORT. HAD several times run to a fire with the boys and knew that there was always a great moise and excitemeut. There was a light in the house, 80 I knew that somebody was getting up. I don't think — indeed I know, for they were good boys — that they ever wanted anybody to lose property, but they did enjoy seeing a blaze, and one of their greatest delights, when there hadn't been a fire for some time, was to build a bonfire in the garden, Jim and I ran around to the front of the house and waited. In a few minutes, some one came rattling at the front door, and I was sure it was Jack. But it was Mr. Morris, and without a word to us, he set off almost running toward the town. We followed after him, and as we hurried along, other men ran out from the houses along the streets, and either joined him, or dashed ahead. They seemed to have dressed in a hurry, and were thrusting their arms in their coats, and buttoning themselves up aa they went. Some of them had hats and some of them had none, and they all had their faces toward the great, red light that got brighter and brighter ahead of us. " Where's the fire ? " they shouted to each other. " Don't know — afraid it's the hotel, or the town hall. It's such a 276 ▲ FIRE IN FAIRPORT. 277 and tthe Mr. ining we long They Bting up as them ;reat, f us. on't ch a blaze. Hope not. How's the water supply now ? Bad time for a fire." It was the hotel. We saw that as soon as we got ou to the main street. There wore people all about, and a great noise and confusion, uud smoke and blacivncss, and up above, bright tongues of llanie were leaping against the sky. Jim and 1 kept close to Mr. Morris's heels, as he pushed his way among tlie crowd. Wlien wc got nearer the burning building, we saw men carrying lad- ders and axes, and others were shouting directions, and rushing out of the hotel, carrying boxes and bundles and furniture in their arms. From the windows above came a steady stream of articles, thrown among the crowd. A mirror struck Mr. ^Morris on the arm, and a whole pack* ago of clotlies full on his head and almost smothered him ; but he brushed them aside and scarcely noticed them. There was something the matter with Mr. Morris — 1 knew by the worried sound of liis voice when he spoke to any one. I could not see his face, though it was as light as day about us, for we had got jammed in the crowd, and if I had not kept between his feet, I should have been trodden to death. Jim, being larger than I was, had got separated from us. Presently Mr. Morris raised his voice above the uproar, and called, " Is every one out of the hotel ? " A voice shouted back, " I'm going up to see." " It's Jim Watson, the fireman," cried some one near. " He's risking his life to go into that pit of flame. Don't go, Watson." I don't think that the brave fireman paid any attention to this warning, for an instant later the same voice said, " He's planting his ladder against the third story. He's bound to go. He'll not get any for^ tber than the second, anyway." 278 BEAUTIFUL JOE. " Where are the Montagues ? " shouted Mr. Morris. " Has any one seen the Montai,'uc.s ? " " Mr. Morris ! Mr. Morris ! " said a friglitcned voice, and young Charlie Montague pressed tiirough tiie people to us. " Where's papa ? " "I dont know. Where did you leave him?" said Mr. Morris, taking his liand and drawing hini closer to him. '' I was sleeping in his room," said the boy, " and a man knocked at the door, and said, ' Hotel on fire. Five minutes to dress and get out,' and papa told mc to put on my clothes and go downstairs, and he ran up to mamma." ' Where was she ? " asked Mr. Morris, quickly. " On the fourth flat. She and her maid Blanche were up there. You know, mamma hasn't been well and couldn't sleep, and our room was so noisy that she moved upstairs where it was quiet." Mr. Morris gave a kind of groan. " Oh, I'm so hot, and there's such a dreadful noise," said the little boy, bursting into tears, " and I want mamma." Mr. Morris soothed him as best he could, and drew liim a little to the edge of the crowd. While he was doing this, there was a piercing cry. I could not see the person making it, but I knew it was the Italian's voice. He was screaming, ii broken EngUsh that the Are was spreading to the stables, and his ani* mals would be burned. Would no one help him to get his animals out ? There was a great deal of confused language. Some voices shouted, " Look after the people first. Let tlie animals go." And others said, " For shame. Get the horses out." But no one seemed to do anything, for the Italian went on crying for help. I heard a number of people who were standing near us say that it had just been found out that several persons who A FIRF: in FAIRI'OUr. 279 had been sleeping in the top of the hotel had not gut out. Thoy saiil that at one of the top windows a poor bouscy maid was shrieking for help. Here in the street wo jouid sec no one at the upper windows, for smoke waa pouring from them. The air was very hot and heavy, and I didn't wonder that Charlie Montague felt ill. He would have fallen ou the ground if Mr. Morris hadn' taken him in his arms, and carried him out of the crowd. He put him down on the hrick sidewalk, and unfitslened his little ttit over it aud juuip ou it. I leit Mr. Morris, aud ruu uruuud the corner of the strecct tu the back of the hotel. It was uot burufd as luuch here as iu the frout, aud in the houses all urouud, people were out ou their roofs with wet blankets, and souie were standing at the windows watching the tiro, or packing up their belougiugs ready to move if it should spread to theiu. There was a uarrow lane running up a sliort dis- tance toward the hotel, and I started to go up tiiis, wlicu iu front of me 1 heard such a wailing, pierciug noise, that it made me shudder and stand still. The Italian's animals were going to be burued up, aud they were call- iug to their ma2p{)ed (juietly up to Mr. MorrJM, and looking at him, I 8UW that it was Mr. Montague. lie was usually a weli-drcflscd man, witli a kind face, and a head of thick, grayish-brown hair. Now liis face wus black and grimy, his hair was burnt from the front of his head, and his clothes were half torn from his back. Mr. Morris sprung up when he saw him, and said, " Where ia your wife?" The gentleman did not say a word but pointed to the burning building. " Impossible," cried Mr. Morris. " Is there no mistake? Vour beautiful young wife, Montague. Can it be so? " Mr. Morris was trembling from head to foot *' It is true," said Mr. Montague, quietly. " Give me the boy." Charlie had faint«>d again, and his father took him iu his arms, and turne !" It seemed as if Mr. Morris could not sit still. He got BILLY AND THE ITALIAN. 283 up and walked to and fro on the floor. " It was an awful Bceue, Margaret. I never wish to look upon the like again. Do you remember how 1 protested against the l)uilding of that death-trap? Look at the wide, open streets around it, and yet they persisted in running it up to the sky. God will require uu account of those deaths at the hands uf the men who put up that building. It is terrible — this disregard of human lives. To think of that delicate woman and her death agouv." He threw him- self in a chair and buried his face in his hands. "Where was she? How did it happen? Was her husband saved, and Charlie?" said Mrs. Morris, in a broken voice. " Yes ; Charlie and Mr. Montague are safe. Char 1 ie will recover from it. Montague's life is done. You know his love for his wife. Oh, Margaret ! when will men cease to be fools? What does the Lord think of them when they say, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' And the other poor creatures burned to death — their lives are as precious in bis sight as Mrs. Montague's." Mr. Morris looked so weak and ill that Mrs. Morris, like a sensible woman, questioned him no further, but made a fire and got him some hot tea. Then she made him lie down en the sofa, and she sat bv him till dav- break, when she persuaded him to go t'> bed. I followed her about, and kept touching her dress with my nose. It seemed so good to me to have this pleasant home after all the misery I had seen that night. Once she stopped and took my head between her hands, " Dear old Joe," she said, tearfully, "this is a sulfering world. It's well there's a better one beyond it." In the morning the boys went down town before break- fast and learned all about the fire. It started in the top 284 BEAUTIFUL JOE. 8tt)ry of the hotel, in the room of some fa«t young men, who were sitting up late playing cards. They had smug- gled wine into their room and had been drinking till they were atupid. One of them upset the lamp, and when the flames began to spread so that they could not extinguish them, instead of rousing some one near them, they rushed downstairs to get some one tliere to come up and help them put out the fire. When they returned with some of the hotel people, they found that tlie flames had spread from their room, which was in an "L" at the back of the house, to the front part, where Mrs. Montague's room was, and where the housemaids belonging to the hotel slept. By this time Mr. ]\Iontague had gotten upstairs ; but he found the passageway to his wife's room so full of flames and smoke, that, though he tried again and again to force his way through, he could not. He disappeared for a time, then he came to Mr. Morris i nd got his boy, and took him to some rooms over his bank, and shut himself up with him. For some days he ^vould let no one in ; then he came out with the look of au old man on his face, and his hair as white as snow, and wen' out to his beautiful house in the outskirts of the town> Nearly ail the horses belonging to the hotel were burned. A few were gotten out by having blankets put over their heads, but the most of them were 80 terrified that they would not stir. The Morris boys said that they found thfl old Italian sitting on an empty box, looking at the smoking ruins of the hotel. His head vfFS hanging on his breast, and his eyes were full of tears. His ponies were burned up, he said, and the gander, and the monkeys, and the goats, and his wonderful performing dogs. He had tmly hia birds lefl, and he was a ruined man. He had toiled all his life BILLY AND THE ITALIAN. 285 1 smug- ill they ben the inguish rushed id help th some I spread aack of e's room he hotel ipstairs ; 0 full of nd again appeared bis boy, ind sbut d let no i man on out to )tel were ikets put terrified Italian - ruins of and bis }d up, he goats, and his birds ill his life to get this troupe of trained animals together, and now they were swept from him. It was cruel and wicked, and he wished he could die. The canaries, and pigeons, and dovee, the hotel people had allowed him to take to his room, and they were safe. The parrot was lost — an educated parrot that could answer forty questions, and among other things, could take a watch and tell the time of day. Jack Morris told him tiiat they had it safe at home, and that it was very much alive, quarreling furiously with his parrot Bella. The old man's face brightened at this, and then Jack and Carl, finding that he had had no breakfast, went off to a restr.urant near by, and got him some steak and coffee. The Italian was very grateful, and as he ate, Jack said the tears ran into bis coffee cup. He told them how much he loved bis animals, and how it " made ze heart bitter to hear zem crying to him to deliver zem from ze raging fire." The boys came home, and got their breakfast and went to school. Miss Laura did not go out. She sat all day with a very quiet, pained face. She could neither read nor sew, and Mr. and Mrs. Morris were just as unsettled. Thjy talked about the fire in low tones, and I could see that they felt more sad about Mrs. Montague's death, than if she had died in an ordinary way. Her dear little canary, Barry, died with her. She would never be sepa- rated from him, and his cage had been taken up to the top of the hotel with her. He probably died an easier death than his poor mistress. Charley's dog escaped, but was 80 frightened that he ran out to their house, outside the town. At tea time, Mr. Morris wont down town to see that the Italian got a comfortable place for the night. When I 286 BEAUTIFUL JOE. he came back, he said that he had found oat that ihe Italian was by no means so old a man as he lucked, and that he hud talked to iiim about raising a sum of money for him among the Fairport people, till he had become quite cheerful, and said that if Mr. Morris would do that, he would try ti gather another troupe of animals to- gether and train them. "Now, what can we do for this Italian?" asked Mrs. Morris. " We can't give him much money, but we might let him have one or two of our pets. There's Billy, he's a bright, little dog, and not two years old yet He could teach him anything." There was a blank silence among the Morris children. Billy was such a gentle, lovable, little dog, that he was a favorite with every one in the house. "I suppose we ought to do it," said Miss Laura, at last, " but how can we give him up ? " There was a good deal of discussion, but the end of it was that Billy was given to th.t Italian. He came up to get him, and was very grateful, and made a great many bows, holding his hut in his hand. Billy took to hira at once, and the Italian spoke so kindly to him, that we knew he would have a good master. Mr. Morris got quite a large sura of money for him, and when he handed it to hira, the poor man was so pleased tliat he ki??ed his hand, and promised to send frequent word as to Billy's progress and welfare. •I ' ^ ^ L CHAPTER XXXVI. DANDV THE TRAMP. IBOUT a week alter Billy left us, the Morris family, much to its surprise, became the owner of a new dog. He walked into the house one cold, wintry afternoon, and lay calmly down by the fire. He was a brindled bull-terrier, and he had on a silver-plated collar, with " Dandy" engraved on it. He lay all the evening by the fire, and when any of the ihraily spoke to hira, he wagged his tail, and looked pleased. I growled a little at him at first, but he never cared a bit, and j;;st dozed off to sleep, 80 I soon stopped. He was such a well-bred afraid that some one had lost hira. They made some in- quiries the next day, and found that he belonged to a New York gentleman who had come to Fairport in the summer in a yacht. This dog did not like the yacht, lie came ashore in a boat whenever he got a chance, and if he could not come in a boat, he would swim. He w»s a tramp, his master said, and he wouldn't stay long in any place. The Morrises were so amused with his impudence, that they did not send him away, but said every day, " Surely he will be gone to-morrow." dog, that the Morrises were J! 288 BEAUTIFUL JOE. However, Mr. Dandy had gotten into comtbrtable quarters, and he had uo intentioa of changing them, fur a while at least. Then he was very handsome, and had such a pleasant way with him, that the family could not help liking him. I never cared for him. He fawned on the Morrises, and pretended he loved them, and after- ward turned around and laughed and sneered at them in a way that made me very angry. I used to lecture him sometimes, and growl about him to Jim, but Jim always said, " Let him alone. You can't do him any good. He was born bad. His mother wasn't good. He tells me that she had a bad name among all the dogs in her neign- borhood. She was a thief and a runaway." Though he provoked me so often, yet I could not help laughing at some of his stories, they were so funny. We were lying out in the sun, on the platform at the back of the house one day, and he had been more than usually provoking, so I got up to leave him. He put himself in my way, however, and said, coaxingly, " Don't be cross, old fellow. I'll tell you some stories to amuse you, old boy. What shall they be about ? " " I think the story of your life would be about as inter- esting aa anything you could make up," I said, dryly. " All right, fact or fiction, whichever you like. Hero's a fact, plain and unvarnished. Born and bred in New York. Swell stable. Swell coachman. Swell master. JeVelled fingers of ladies poking at me, first thing 1 re- member. First painful experience — being sent to vet. to have ears cut." " What's a vet. ? " I said. " A veterinary — animal doctor. Vet. didn't cut cars enough. Master sent me back. Cut ears again Sum- mer time, and flies bad. Ears got sore and festered, and DANDY THE TRAMP. 289 mfortable tbem, fur and bad could not uwned on md after- t them in cture him im always good. He ! tells me her ueign- rhougb he bUghing at >mi at tbe more than He put y, " Don't to amuse ut as inter- dryly. ie. Hero's red in New ell master, thing 1 re- t to vet. to 't cut cars ain Sum- istered, and flies very attentive. Coachnmn set little boy to brush flies off, but he'd run out in yard uud leave nie. Plies awful. Thought they'd eat me up, or else I'd shake out braius trying to get rid of them. .Neither sliould have stayed home and licked my ears, but was cruising about neighborhood. Finally coachman put me in dark place, powdered ears, and they got well." "Why didn't they cut your tail too? " I said, looking at his long, slim tail, which was like a sewer rut's. " 'Twasn't the fashion, Mr. Wayback, a bull terrier's ears arc clipped to keep them from getting torn while figljtiag." " You're not a fighting dog,'' I said. " Not I. Too much trouble. I believe in taking things easy.'" " I should think you did," I said, scornfully. " You never put yourself out for any one, 1 notice ; but speak- ing of cropping ears. What do you think of it? " " Well," he said, with a sly glance at my head, " it isn't a pleasant operation ; but one might as well l)c out of the world as out of the fashion. 1 don't care, now .my lars are done." " But," I said, " think of the poor dogs that will come after you." "What difference does that make to me?" he said. " I'll be dead and out of the way. Men can cut off their ears, and tails, and legs too, if they want to." " Dandy," I said, angrily, " you're the most selfish dog that I ever saw." " Don't excite yourself," he said, coolly. "Let rae get on with my stor} . When I was a few months old, I began to find the stable yard narrow and wondered what there was outside it. I discovered a hole in the garden wall, T I I III 290 BEAUTIFUL JOE. aud used to sneak out nights. Ob, what fun it was. I got to know a lot of street dogs, and we had gay times, barking under people's wind(j\vs and making tbera mad, and getting into back yards and clwising cats. We used to kill a cat nearly every night. I'ulicemeu would chaso us, aud we would run and run till the water just ran off our tongues, and we hadn't a bit of breath left. Then I'd go home and sleep all day, and go out again the next night. When 1 was about a year old, I began to stay out days as well as nights. They couldn't keep me home. Then I ran away for three montlis. I got with an old lady on Fifth avenue, who was very fond of dogs. She had four white poodles, and hpr servants used to wash them, and tie up their huir with blue ribbons, and she used to take them for drives in her phaeton in the park, and ihey wore gold and silver collars. The biggest poodle wore a ruby in his collar worth five hundred dol- lars. I went driving too, and sometimes we met my master. He often smiled, and shook his head at me. I heard him tell the coachman one day that I was a little blackguard, and he was to let me come aud go as I liked." " If they had whipped you soundly," I said, " it might have made a good dog of you." " I'm good enough now," said Dandy, airily. " The young ladies who drove with my master, used to say that it was priggish and tiresome to be too good To go on with my story: I stayed with Mrs. Judge Tibbett till I I got sick of her fussy ways. She made a simpleton of herself over those poodles. Each one had a high chair at the table and a j)late, and they always sat in these cliairs and had meals with her, and the servants all called them Master IJijou, and Master Tot, and Miss Tiny, and DAXDY TUB TRAMP. 291 03 Miss Fluff'. One day they tried to make me sit in a ctmir, and I gut cruss au^ bit Mrs. Tibbett, iind she beat nic cruelly, uud her servants stuued lue away from the bouse." " Speaking about fools, Dandy," I said, " if it is polite to call a lady one, I should say that that lady wsis one. Dogs shouldn't be put out of their place. Why didn'tr she have some poor cliildren at lier table, and in her car- riage, and let the dogs run behind '? " " Easy to see you don't know New York," said Dandy, with a laugh. " Poor children don't live with rich, old ladies. Mrs. Tibbett hated children anyway. Tlien doga like poodles would get lost in the mud, or killed in the crowd if they ran behind a carriage. Only knowing doga like me can make their way about." I rather doubted this speech, but I said nothing, and he went on, patroniz- ingly : " However, Joe, thou hast reason, as the French say. Mrs. Judge Tibbett didn't give her dogs exercise enough. Their claws were as long as Chinamen's nails, and the hair grew over their pads, and they had red eyes and were always sick, and she had to dose them with medicine, .and call them her poor, little, 'weeny-teeny, sicky-wicky doggies.' Bah! I got disgusted with her. When I lefl her, I ran away to her niece'b, Miss Ball's. She was a sensible young lady, and she used to scold her aunt for the way in which she brougiit up her dogs. She was almost too sensible, for her pug and I were rubbed and scrubbed within an inch of our lives, and had to go for such long walks that I got thoroughly sick of them. A woman whom the servants called Trotsey, came every morning, and too^ the pug and me by our chains, and sometimes another dog or two, and took us for long tramps iu quiet streets. That was Trotsey'b business, to walk 292 BEAUTIFUL JOK. doi,'3, and Mias Ball g<»t a great many faahionab'.e young ladies who could not exercise their dogi*, to let Trotsey have tbcra, and they said that it made a gnat difference iu the health and appearance of their pets. Trotsey gut fifteen cents an hour for a dog. Goodness, what appetites tliose walks gave us, and didn't we make the dog biscuits dis- appear? But it was a alow life at Miss Ball's. We only saw her for a little while every day. She slept till noon. Atler lunch she played with us for a little while in the green-house, then she was off driving or visiting, and in the evening she always had company, or went to a dance, or to the theatre. I soon made up my mind tliat I'd run away. I jumped out of a window one fine morning, and ran home. I stayed there for a long time. My mother had been run over by a cart and killed, and I wa.sn't sorry. Mv roaster never bothered his head about me, and I could do as I liked. One day when I was having a walk, and meeting a lot of dogs that I knew, u little boy came behind me, and before I could tell what he was doing, he had snatched rae up, and was running off with me. I couldn't bite him, for he had stuffed some of his rags in my mouth. He took me to a tenement house, in a part of the city that I had never been in before. He belonged to a very poor family. My faith, weren't they badly oiV — six chiKlren, and a mother and father, all living in two tiny rooms. Scarcely a bit of meat did I smell while I was there. I hated their bread and molasses, and the place sinelled so badly that I thought I should choke. "They kept me shut up in their dirty rooms for several days ; and the brat of a boy that caught me, slept with his arm around me at night. The weather was hot and sometimes we couldn't sleep, and tney had to go up on the roof. After a while, they chained me up in a filthy hi!: DANDY THE TRAMP. 293 yaid at the back of the house, ntul thrre I thuught I should gu mud. 1 would huve likid to hitc them all tu death, if I hud durod. It's awfid to l)e cliuined, «(. 'ci- ally for a dog like mc thnt Iovch his freedom. Tiie flies worried nic, uiui the nuise.s di.stracted me, and my flesh would fairly creep from geitiiij,' no exercise. I waa there nearly a montli, while they were, waiting for a reward to be ofl'ered. But none came ; und one day, the boy's father, who wus a s^trcet peddler, took me l)y my chain and led me about tlie streets till he sold me. A gentle- man got me for hia little boy, but I didn't like the look of him, 80 I sprang up and bit his huiid, and he dron{K'd the chain, and i dodged boys and policemen, and finally got home more dead than alive, and looking Mke a skele- ton. I had a good time for several wotks, and tlun I began to get restless and was oil' again. But I'm getting tired, I want to go to sleep." "You're not very polite," I said, "to ofier to tell a story, and then go to sleep before you finish it." " Look out for number one, ray boy," said Dandy with a yawn ; " for if you don't, no one else will," and he shut his eyes and was fast asleep in a few minutes. I sat and looked at him. What a handsome, good- natured, worthless dog be was. A few days later, he told me the rest of his history. After a great many wander- ings, he happened home one day just us his master's yacht was going to sail, and they chained him up till they went on board, so that he could be an auiusemeut on the pas- sage to Fairport. It was in November that Dandy came to \\s, and he stayed all winter. He made fun of the Moriiaes all the time, and said they had a dull, poky, old house, and he only stayed because Miss Laura was nursing him. He 294 BEAUTIFUL J< >R. had u little sore on his hack that she soon found out wn, munge. Iler fatlicr said it was a hud (Ii8<'us<> for do;{s to have, and Dundy hud hotter he shot ; hut siie hl>)^^a>d po hard for his life, tind said she would eurc him in, a few weeks, that hIic was allowed to keep liiin. Dundy wuHu't capahle of getting really angry, hut he was us disturhed about havitig this diseusc as he could be uhout unytliing. He said that he had got it from a little, numgy dog, that he had ployed with a few weeks hefore. He was only \vith the dog a little while, and didn't think he X'oidd take it, but it seemed he knew what an easy thing it wa« to get. Until he got well he was separated from us. ^^i8fl Laurp kept him up in the loft with the rabbits, where we could not go; and the hoys ran him around the garden for exercise. Siic tried all kinds of cures for him, and I heard her say that though it wvs a skin disease, his blood must be purified. She gave liiui some of the pills tiiat she made out of sulplmr and butter for Jim, and liilly, and me, to keep our coats silky and smooth. When they didn't cure him, she gave him a few drops of arsenic every day, and washed the sore, and, indeed his whole body with tobacco water or carbolic soup. It wa.s the tobacco water that cured him. Miss Laura always put* on gloves when she went near him, and used a brush to wash him, for if a person takes mange from a do2, they may lose their hair and th' ir eyelashes. But if tliey are careful, no harm comes from nursing a mangy dog, and I liave never known of any one taking the disease. After a time, Dandy's sore healed, and he was Bet free. He was right glad he said, for he hud got lieartily sick of the rub bite. He used to bark at them and make them DANDY rilR TRAMP. 29.> them nu;jy, and they would nin of<>ui>d tli" liift.Maniiiin'^ their bind luct ut him, in tiiu t'duuy wuy thui ruhl)it« do. I think they diuUkcd him lu much us lie didlike-:r.iliir way oriiviii<; made him tuku diKoiucd rcudilv. ilu would Htiitl' him.st'U' whon ho wiu) hungry, aitd lit> always want<-d rich food. If be couldn't gut what hu wanted at the Morris's', he went out and Htole, or visited the dumps at the hack of the town. Wlien he did u'et ill, he w;w more fltupid about doctor- ing himtjelf than any dog that I have ever seen, iio never seemeil to know when to eat gniw, or herbs, or a little earth, that would have kept him in good condition. A dog should never he without gra-ss. When Dandy got ill, he ju9tsuilercd till he got well again, and never tried to cure himself of hi.s dumll M-ouldes. Some dogs even know enough to amputate their limbs. Jim told me a very interesting story of a dog the Morrises once bi.d, called Gyp, whose hig became paralyzed by a kick from :i horse. He knew the leg was dead, and gnawed it otf nearly to the shoulder, and though he Wits very sick fur a time, yet in th(> end he got well. To return to Dandy. I knew he was only waiting for the spring to leave us, and I was liot sorry. I'lie liri^t hue day no was off, and during the rest of the spring and sum- mer we occasionally met him running about the town with a set of fa^t dog-i. One day I stopped, and a.sk(>il him how he contented himself in such a <|iiiet place :is Fairport, and he buid he was dying to get back to N( w York, and was hoping that his nnister's yacht would come and take him uway. Poor Dandy never left Fairport. After all, he w:w not such a bud dug. Tberu was nothing really viciuuB ii 296 BEAUTIFUL JOE. about him, and I hate in speak of his end. His master'n yacht did not oine, and soon the siiuimer was over, aiiu the winter was c )iuing, and no one wanted Dandy, for he had such a bad name. He got hungry and cold, and one day sprang upon a little girl, to take away a piece of bread and lutterthat she was eating. He did not see the large house-dog on the door sill, and before he could get away, the dog had seized him, and bitten and shaken him till he was nearly dead. When the dog throw him aside, he crawled to the Morrises', and Miss Laura bandaged his wounds, and made him a bed in the stable. One Sunday morning, she washed and fed him very tenderly, for she knew he could not live much longer. He was so weak that he could scarcely eat the food that she put in his mouth, so she let him lick so'ue milk from her finger. As she was going to church, I could not go with her, but I ran down the lane and watched her out of aight. When I came back, Dandy was gone. I looked till I found him. He had crawled into the darkest cor- ner of the stable to die, and though he was suffering very much, he never uttered a sound. I sat by him, and thought of his master in New York. If he had brought Dandy up properly he might not now be here in liis silent death agony. A young pup should be trained just as a child is, and punished when he goes wrong. Dandy be- gan badly, and not being checkt'l in his evil ways, had come to this. Poor Dandy ! Poor, !\andsome dog of a rich master ! He opened his dull eyes, gave me one last glance, then, with a convulsive shudder, his torn limbs were still. He would never suffer any more. When Miss Laura came home, she cried bitterly to know that he was dead. The boys took him away from her, and made him a grave in the corner of the garden. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE END OF MY STORY. HAVE come now to the last chapter of my story. I thought when I began to write, that I would put down the events of each year of my life, but I fear that would make my story too long, and neither Miss Laura nor any boys and girls would care to read it. So I will stop just here, though I would gladly go on, for I have enjoyed so much talking over old times, that I am very soriy to leave off. Every year that I have been at the Morrises', something pleasant has happened to me, but I cannot put ali *.hcse things down, nor can I tell how Miss Laura and the boys grew and changed, year by year, till now they are quite grown up. I will just bring ray tale down to the present time, and then I will stop talking, and go lie down in my basket, for I am an old dog now, and get tired very easily. I was a year old when I went to the Morrises, and I have been with them for twelve years. I am not living in the same house witli Mr. and Mrs. Morris now, but I am with my dear Miss Laura, who is Mi.ss Laura no longer, but Mrs Gray. She married Mr. Harry four years ago, and lives with him and Mr. and Mrs. Wood, on Dingley Farm. Mr. and Mrs. Morris live in a cot- tage near by. Mr. Morris is not' very strong, and can 2*.!: 298 BEAUTIFUL JOE. preach DO longer. The boys are all scattered. Jack mar- ried pretty Miss Bessie Drury, and lives on a lar^re farm near here. Miss Bessie says that she hates to be a farm- er's wife, but she always looks very happy and contented, so I tliink tiiat she must l)e mistaken. Carl is a merchant in New York, Ned is a clerk in a bank, and Willie isa*.udy- ing at a place called Harvard. He f^ays thiit after he finishes his studies, he is going to live with his father and mother. The Morrises' old friends often come to see them. Mrs. Drury comes every summer on her way to Newport, and Mr. Montague and Charlie come every uiher sunmier. Charlie always brings with him his old dog Brisk, who is getting feeble, like myself. We lie on the veranda in the sunsLine, and listen to the Morrises talking about old days, and sometimes it n'akes us feel quite young a<;ain. In addition to Brisk we liave a Scotcii collie. He is very handsome, and is a con.stunt attendant of Miss Laura's. We are great friends, he and I, but he can get abo'it much better than I can. One day a friend of ^!i.»s Laura's came with a little boy and girl, and "Collie '" ?at between the two children, and their father took their picture with a " kodak." I like him so nuicli that I uold him I would get them to put his picture in my book. When the Morris boys are all here in the summer we have gay times. All through the winter we look forward to their coming, for they make the old farmiiouse so lively. Mr. Maxwell never misses a summer in coming to Riverdale. He has such a following of dui!ib animals no.v, that he says he can't move them any farther away from Boston than this, and l"e doesn't know what he will do ',vilh them, unless he sets up a menagerie. He asked Miss Laura the other day, if she thought that the old ^^ B H M I Z 'a THE END OP ky STORY. 299 Italian woald take him iuto partnership. He did nut know what had happened to poor J^elliui, ^o Mias Laura told him. '\ A few years ago the Italian came'to Riverdale, to ex- hibit his new stock of performing animals. They were almost as good as the old ones, but he had not quite so many as he had before. The Morrises and a great many of their friends went to his performance, and Miss Laura said afterward, that when cunning little Billy came on the stage, and made his bow, and went through his antics of jumping through hoops, and catching balls, that she almost had hysterics. The Italian had made a special pet of him for the Morrises' sake, and treated him more like a human being than a dog. Billy rather put on airs when he came up to the farm to see us, but he was such a dear little dog, in spite of being almost spoiled by his master, that Jim and I could not get angry with him. In a few days they went away, and we heard nothing but good news from them, till last winter. Then a letter came to Miss Laura from a nurse in a New York hospi- tal. She said that the Italian was very near his end, and he wanted her to write to Mrs. Gray to tell her that he had sold all his animals but the little dog that she had so kindly given him. He was seiidinir liiiu back to her, and with his latest breath ho would pray i'or heaven's blt'ss- ing on the kind lady and her family that had befriended him when he was in trouble. The next day Billy arrived, a thin, white scarecrow of a dog. He was sick and unhappy, and would eat nothing, and started up at the slighest sound. He was listening for the Italian's footsteps, but he never came, and one day Mr. Harry loo'ked up from his newspaper and said, " I^aura, Bellini is dead." Miss Laura's eyes filled with 300 BEAUTIFUL JOE. m tears, and Billy, who had jumped up when he heard his master's name, fell back again. He knew what they meant, and from that instant he ceased listening for foot- steps, and lay quite still till he died. Miss Laura had him put in a little, wooden box, and buried him in a cor- ner of the garden, and when she is working among her flowers, she often speaks regretfully of liira, and of poor Dandy, who lies in the garden at Fairport. Bella, the parrot, lives with Mrs. Morris, and is as smart as ever. I have heard tl.at parrots live to a very great age. Some of them even get to be a hundred years old. If that is the case, Bella will outlive all of us. She notices that 1 am getting blind and feeble, and when I go down to call on Mrs. Morris, she calls out to me, " Keep a stiff upper lip, Beautiful Joe. Never say die, Beautiful Joe. Keep the game agoing. Beautiful Joe." Mrs. Morris says that she doesn't know where Bella picks up her slang words. I think it is Mr. Ned who teaches her, for when he comes home in tlie summer he often says with a sly twuikle in his eye, "Come out into the garden, Bella," and he lies in a hammock under the trees, and Bella perclie.s on a branch near him, and he talks to her by the hour. Anyway, it i' in the autumn after he leaves Riverdale that Bella always shocks Mrs. Morris with her slang talk. I am glad that I am to end my days in Riverdale. Fairport was a very nice place, but it was not open and free like this farm. I take a walk every morning tliat the sun shines. I go out among the horses and cows, and stop to watch the hens pecking at their food. This is a happy place, and I hope my dear Miss Laura will live to enjoy it many years after I am gone. I have very few worries. Tlie pigs bother me a little ird hia it they ir foot- ra had I a cor- ng her )f poor ls smart eat age. Id. If notices ro down p a stiff i'ul Joe. Ha picks teaches "ten says ! garden, ees, and s to her le leaves with her iverdale. pen and ■ing that lows, and This is a U live to THE END OP MY STORY. 301 le a little in the spring, by rooting up the bones that I bury in the fields in the fall, hut that is a small matter, and I try not to mind it. I get a great many bones here, and I should be glad if I had sume poor city dogs to help me eat them. I don't think bones are good for pigs. Then tliere is Mr. Harry's tame squirrel o-.t in one of the barns that teases me consideral)ly. He knows that I can't chase him, now that my legs are so still' with rheu- matism, and lie takes delight in showing me hew spry he can be, darting around me and whisking his tail almost in my face, and trying to got me to run after him, so that he can laugh at me. I don't think tliat he is a very thoughtful squirrel, but I try not to notice him. The sailor boy who gave Bella to the Morrises, has got to be a large, stout man, and is the first mate of a vessel. He sometimes comes here, and when he does, he always brings the Morrises presents of foreign fruits and curiosi- ties of different kinds. Malta, the cat, is still living, and is with Mrs. ^forris. Davy, the rat, is gone, so is poor old Jim. He went away .ine day last summer, and no one ever knew what became of him. Tlie Morrises searched everywhere for him, and offered a large reward to any one who would find him, but he never turned up again. I think that he felt he was going to die, and went into some out-of-the-way place. He remembered how badly Miss Laura felt when Dandy died, and he wanted to spare her the greater sorrow of hia death. He was always sucli a thoughtful dog, and so anxious not to give trouble. I am more selfish. I couid not go away from Miss Laura, even to die. When my last hour comes, I want to see her gentle face bending over me, and then I shall not mind how much I suffer. She is just as tender-hearted as ever, but she tries not -jy^'i^^'wyji^fffyy^i " 302 BEAUTIFUL JOE. to feel too badly about the sorrow and BuflTering in the W(jrld, because she says that wouhi weaken her, and she wants all her strength to try to put a stop to some of it. She does a great deal of good in Riverdale, and I do not think that there is any one in all the country around who is as much bel(»ved as she is. She has never forgotten tlie resolve that she made some years ago, that she would do all tliat she could to protect dumb creatures. Mr. Harry and Mr. Maxwell have helped her nobly. Mr. Maxwell's work is largely done in Boston, and Miss Laura and Mr. Harry have to do the most of theirs by writing, for Riverdale has got to be a model village in respect of the treatment of all kinds of animals. It is a model village not only in that respect, but in others. It has seemed as if all other improve- ments went hand in hand with the humane treatment of animals. Thoi'ghtfulness toward lower creatures has made the people more and more thoughtful toward them- selves, and this little town is getting to have quite a name through the State for its good schools, good society, and good business and religious standing. Many people are moving into it, to educate their children. The River- dale people are very particular about what sort of stran- gers come to live among them. A man who came liere two years ago and opened a shop, was seen kicking a small kitten out of his house. The next dav a committtee of Riverdale citizens waited on him, and said they had had a great deal of trouble to root out cruelty from their village, and they didn't want any one to come there and introduce it again, and thoy thought he had better move on to some other place. The man was utterly astonished, and said he'd never heard of such particular people. He Ifad had no thought of THE END OF MY STORY. 303 in the and she lie of it. I do not around ade some 0 protect ell have rely done ive to do got to be all kinds it respect, improve- xtment of Aires has ■ard them- ite a name iciety, and people are :'be River- t of stran- opened a his house. ;eii3 waited trouble to idn't want , and thoy >lace. The ever heard thought of being cruel. He didn't think that the kitten cared ; but uow when he turne(J, tliL> thing over in his mind, lie diihi't suppose catri liked beiui^ kicked al)out any iiiuro than he would like it liiinself, and lie would promise to be kind to them in future. He said too, tliat if tlifv liad no ob- jection, he would just stay on, for if the people there treated dumb animals with such consi»ierati(m, tliey would certainly treat hunuin boins^s bttter, and he thought it would be a good place to bring up his chil- «lrenin. Of course they let him stay, and tie is now a man who is celebrated for his kindness to every living thing; and he never refuses to help Mi.ss Laura when she goes to him for money to cany out any of her humane schemes. There is one most important saying of Miss Laura's that comes out of her years of service for dumb animals that I must put in before I close, and it is this. She says that cruel and vicious owners of animals should be pun- ished ; but to merely thoughtless people, don't say "Don't "so much. Don't go to tiiom and say, " Don't overfeed your animab, and don't starve them, and don't overwork them, and don't beat them," and so on through the long list of hardships that can be put upon suffering animals, but say simply to them, " Be kind. Make a study of your aninuils wants, and tee tiiat they are satis- fietl. No one can tell you how to treat your aninlal as well as you should know yourself, for you are with it all the time, and know its disposition, and just how much work it can stand, ami liow much rest and food it needs. and just how it is dilllrent from every other animal. If it is sick or unhappy, you are the one to take care of it; for nearly every animal loves its own master better than a stranger, and will get well quicker under his care." *;:») 304 BEAUTIFUL JOE. MLbs Laura says that if men and women are kind in every respect to tlieir dmnl) servant.", they will be astonished to find h.iV much hap|)iuci>s they will bring into their lives, und bow fuithful and grateful their dumb animals will be to them. Now I must really close my story. Good-bye to the boys and girls who may read it ; and if it is not wrong for a doj; to sav it, I sliould like to add, " God bless vou all." If in my feeble way I have been able to impress you with tlic fact that dogs and many other animals love their masters and mistresses, and live only to pi' ^se them, my little story will not bo written in vain. Aly last words are, " Boys and girls, be kind to dumb animals not only because you will lose nothing by it, but because you ought to ; for they we're placed on the earth by the same Kind Hand that made all living creatures." 'omen are kind in 't.«, they will be sa they will bring fateful their dumb Good-bye to the i it ia not wrong > " God bless you 1 able to impress ;l>er animals love y to pi'asethera, vain. My i^^ irab animals not but because you «'» by the same _ I)